


Teardrops Burn

by Cap_Sweet_And_Salty_Sadness



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asexuality Spectrum, BAMF Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Gets Dogs, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes-centric, Bucky is a freelance assassin, Canon-Typical Violence, Demisexual Bucky Barnes, Dogs, M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Sexy Bucky Barnes, Slow Burn, Undercover, bucky barnes deserves happiness, self-care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2019-12-30 01:21:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18305270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cap_Sweet_And_Salty_Sadness/pseuds/Cap_Sweet_And_Salty_Sadness
Summary: After saving Steve from the Potomac River, James begins his new life as a contracted assassin. He makes his recovery on his own and lives by his own rules while on the run from Hydra. But how many identities can one person have before losing themselves?AKA Bucky being a sexy badass assassin





	1. Handmade Heaven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of the story is from Vic Damone’s [You’re Breaking My Heart](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vxf_gd-coYs), and this chapter’s title is from Marina’s [ song of the same name](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GiOGlYjKgX8%22). 
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: Non-consenting drug use, overdose at the beginning and is contained in three paragraphs, you can skip from “The man woke up” and resume at “James took a photo”. Let me know if this chapter requires more warnings.

Vic Damone was playing in the hotel bar, a soothing alternative to the current popular music  most places played nowadays. The whiskey was smooth on his tongue, burnt its way down his throat, spread warmth in his belly. James asked for a refill, trying to ignore the insistent gaze of the woman sitting at the counter across from him. He pretended not to pay attention when she changed seats for the one next to his, scrolling down some model’s Instagram.

“Are you here for the law conference?” she asked, sweetly, and he finally turned to her. She was pretty, brown hair cut in a classic bob that gave her elegance and elongated her neck, and perhaps another night James would’ve been interested.

“Sure,” he replied and drained his glass.

“Can I buy you another one?” she smiled, starting to gesture at the bartender.

“Thanks, but no. I gotta go.”

He adjusted his tie and walked away without glancing back at her. The lobby of the hotel was quiet, his footsteps muffled by the luxurious carpet. The elevator took less than a minute to arrive, and then he was pressing the button for the thirteenth floor. He nodded at the two men who stepped in around the sixth floor, fiddled with his phone until he arrived to his floor.

The hall was empty, a good thing. He walked to 1309 and knocked, strained his ears to make sure nobody was inside. Hearing nothing, he used the card he had stolen from a distracted maid and slipped inside. The room was in the darkness, safe from the streetlight beaming orange streaks through the curtains and casting distorted shadows. He examined the bedroom, searched the luggage until he found the pouch he was looking for. With that done, he sat in the office chair and used the cellphone to send a text message.

He waited.

The sound of the door snapped him out of his daze. A man fumbled inside, grumbling under his breath. He was clearly drunk, bumping into the bed and almost falling over before he caught himself. He leaned over to turn on the desk lamp.

James pressed a chloroform handkerchief against his mouth, restrained him with his other arm, and shushed until he went boneless against him. He dragged him to the chair he’d been occupying and took out zip ties from his inner pocket to tie him up with them, a hand turned palm up. Only then did he turned the light on, and that was only because he wasn’t used to preparing a heroin injection. He had to look up online for that.

The man woke up just in time to see James stick the needle in his arm. Small purple wounds already dotted the inside of his elbow, making it easy for him to find a vein.

“What are you doing?” The tied man panicked, tried in vain to pull away, but it was already too late. The syringe had been emptied.

“Someone put a lot of money on your head, I’m just doing my job.” James patted his shoulder. The drug quickly acted, and with the amount he’d put in there, his heart started beating furiously, irregularly, and finally stopped a few minutes after his target lost consciousness.

James took a photo of the target and sent it to his contractor. He heard footsteps coming closer, stopping at the door.

“Vlad, are you in here? My phone was stolen earlier, sorry I didn’t text you, but my agency told me you wanted us to meet here.”

It was time to leave. James opened a window and vanished outside.

 

The second half of his payment was sent through an e-transfer the next day. James accepted it as he took a plane from the Heathrow airport to Amsterdam, to another target. His reputation on the dark web was growing, he’d been contacted more lately than ever, but he was soon going to have some time to cool off. As much as he enjoyed doing what he was best at, he looked forward to returning home.

His next target wasn’t due to be in the city until the next day, so James had about thirty hours to himself. He arrived at his hotel, did a sweep for any bugs or cameras, and once he found none, finally removed his photostatic veil. It was completely weightless, and yet James breathed more easily as soon as he removed it. Probably an after-effect of wearing a face mask for seventy years.

He undressed and padded naked to the bathroom to draw himself a bath. He tidied his beard, put on a hair mask and slid in the hot, inviting bubbly water. He checked for news on the Avengers, more particularly Captain America. Almost a year had passed since the Potomac and his freedom, and still Steve Rogers was looking for him. He’d tracked him all over the world, almost catching him a few times, but James didn’t want to be found. He wanted to stay out of trouble.

Public trouble, that is.

He was currently doing very well as a freelancer assassin. He was living just fine without his memories from before. He didn’t remember Steve Rogers and didn’t want to, didn’t want to understand why he even bothered saving him from the river back then. A phantom longing that he buried once he turned away from the unconscious man.

He knew those memories would bring pain and he’d had enough of it as it was. Sometimes he’d wake up and knew he dreamt of his past, but it never remained. He learnt long ago that it was best to let go.

James also checked on Iron Man, just because he loved the suit in action. It was so slick and shiny and fascinating, James could watch tons of compilations of him and not get bored… not that he’d ever done that. There was just something so satisfying about watching him, especially when he used the repulsor beams. He reminded him of a comic character he used to read about in his youth, in the newspapers he’d sneak away from his parents. Every day he would get excited to learn more about Buck Rogers’ adventures. He’d wanted so badly to get one of the toys when they first came out, with the spaceship and the small ray gun, but his family couldn’t afford it so that had been out of the question.

Well, not anymore.

He rinsed his hair and got out of the bath to order room service. His stomach was rumbling. He didn’t bother putting his veil back on and instead distracted the hotel employee by only wearing a towel. She didn’t seem interested in his face, minutely keeping her gaze down on the cart with blushing cheeks. James knew it was a bit of a dick move, so he gave a good tip in American dollars to compensate. The woman hurried to put the bill in her pocket, already turning around.

“ _Dank je wel, meneer. Eet smakelijk_.” (“Thank you, sir. Eat well.”)

The food was great, then he fell into bed and slept for twelve hours. He’d been monitoring and planning his last contract for two days straight without sleep, so he relished in the luxury and had a late morning.

He spent part of the day at the NEMO Science Museum and wandered along the canal before heading out to a storage warehouse. A contact had prepared number 19 for him, someone he paid enough they wouldn’t cause him any trouble and always got him what he wanted since they started exchanging services. James might have killed their abusive ex-boyfriend too.

He unlocked the door and closed it behind him before turning the light on. There was junk laying around, piles of magazines and other collectibles meant to distract anyone who wasn’t supposed to be here. James stepped around to reach the back. Hidden in a customized cello case was stashed a Remington Precision Sniper Rifle along with knives and an array of accessories he most often needed for contracts. The rifle was a beauty, a model 700 tactical chassis with dark, smooth edges and a safe heavy weight in his arms. She was expensive as hell and he’d paid in cash to get her, so he kept her safe and cleaned her well when he was in the area and needed to take her out for the night.

Tonight was a contract simple in its instructions, which he took as a break between the ones with specificities other contractors included. He surveyed his target’s apartment from the security of his scope, installed on the next building’s roof and munching on _stroopwafels_ , sticky sweet waffles he’d bought in a nearby market.

When the target entered his apartment and was in his sight, he simply had to press the rifle’s trigger. They were involved in neo-Nazi action, so James had no issue taking care of them and pocketing some money in the process.

He always made a background check on the target before accepting any contract, he wasn’t about to kill someone because they had insulted the contractee at church – example taken from real events, which made the situation quite ironic. Superheroes were off-limits, despite some customers’ insistence and the high price they were willing to pay for him to silence powerful influencers like Tony Stark. He was an assassin with a work ethic.

After Amsterdam, he had another target in Rome he wanted to take care of before returning home to have a few relaxing days. He really enjoyed going all over the globe of his own free will and if it confused his pursuers in thinking he was trying to hide, so be it.

Well, he was hiding, but he left a lot of cold trails away from where he actually was, and by the time they managed to make sense out of them, he was long gone.

Rome was flamboyant, loud and always active. After he checked in his hotel, he treated himself at the Wani Vegan Bakery with pizza and pastries, enthusiastic about trying everything. Between mouthfuls of delicious food, he studied the whereabouts of his next target. It didn’t even involve any hacking, he just needed to check his Instagram and Facebook page.

The man would be talking at a seminar with a title longer than he cared to memorize, so James turned his attention to the location: the University of Washington in Rome.

Well, he always wanted to go back to school.

He put on his synthetic arm sleeve and photostatic veil, threw on his most hipster outfit and tied his hair up in a bun. He used a messenger bag to carry his tools hidden under his laptop and took the metro for the university. Rush hour was luckily over so it wasn’t crowded. James didn’t feel comfortable around too many people, even if he hid it well, he felt like they were staring down at him and judging him.

Outside was still as energetic as ever, and James recognized international students by the way they looked and acted, a mix of nonchalance and despair. He mixed in with a group, following them inside toward the conference room as he popped his chewing gum. He feigned disinterest while his eyes registered everything.

There already were a good amount of people seated, even the speakers were already there, discussing with some attendees. James zoomed on them standing in the middle of the main aisle, then got out his phone just like any other student would do.

Italian and English blended together around him, echoing loudly in the room, which made blocking them more difficult, but he feigned a distracted expression long enough to bump into a teacher head first and make it believable.

“ _Scusi, non ti ho visto,_ ” he muttered, not even looking up. (“Sorry, I didn’t see you.”)

He continued on his way and sat down between a girl with coral hair and a guy who was already writing down notes on his tablet. Why he would do such a thing was beyond him. The girl was talking with her friends, but he didn’t care for their conversation. His focus was on his target, Drake Previn. He was working with AIM and also part of a clandestine circle that enjoyed kidnapping people and watching them get tortured.

James remembered Hydra members just like him.

He zoned out during the actual talk after the first five minutes he spent trying to understand any of it, only to realize it was way too advanced for him. Also, it didn’t help people kept glancing back at him, whispering between themselves. Oh, it wasn’t anything compromising the mission, but this veil was definitely too attractive, or maybe it was the way he’d left a few buttons of his Henley shirt open and wasn’t wearing any undershirt. Rome was hot, alright, he hadn’t expected to create a club simply by trying to keep cool. There were some other people scantily dressed too, so it wasn’t like he was the only one.

Luckily no one tried to talk to him, thanks to his resting bitch face. There was a period of questions after forty-five minutes, and James spent it observing his target. He was a charismatic, well-maintained middle-aged man with dyed hair to hide the white strands and too many rings on his fingers. James wondered if he ever evaluated his students to determine whether or not to include them in his secret games. Did he have preferences, or did he choose depending on his mood? Perhaps each member of the circle had their turn at choosing a victim.

James was stirred out of his train of thoughts when someone coughed nearby him, reminding him where he was. He swallowed his anger and let it go. He’d already done his part.

Throughout answering questions, Previn’s complexion turned ashy and he pulled on his tie, starting to have trouble breathing, until he was visibly struggling to stay upright. One of the assistants helped him to sit down while the other teacher took over. He kept struggling until he turned rigid and fell on the floor. The crowd gasped in shock as he landed face first and stopped moving. 

James put away his notebook where he’d been scribbling gibberish and hurried out along with the rest of the attendees. He swept his thumb along the sole ring on his other hand, making sure the lid was properly closed. The contractor had requested a public death, and he hadn’t used poison in a while, so this had been the perfect opportunity.

The room was evacuated and he followed the mass of panicked young adults, but he did hear laughs as well. Ah, yes, some had too much morbid curiosity and enjoyed the misery of others. James understood the notion but didn’t approve of it. Years of killing had destroyed any empathy he could’ve felt for those who deserved it, but he didn’t like to linger around afterwards.

He went to the Real Bodies exposition an hour before it closed for the night. For being a hired assassin, the sight of exposed muscles, nerves and bones weirded him out, but his curiosity kept him exploring and staring at the bodies twisted in odd positions. It reminded him of a contract he’d had not that long ago, where the contractor had requested a very specific death scene, similar to this, only with more skin.

James hadn’t minded, or the bonus it earned him. He liked money. He remembered being poor before, struggling to eat on a day to day basis, until the war started and he volunteered. He knew he might not return home, but at least he’d be fed every day, had a place to sleep, and he could send his payrolls to Steve who was trying so hard to sell his art.

James frowned, staring at the human slides framed in glass without seeing them. Instead he saw a painting he’d stumbled upon one evening when he’d come back from boxing training, Steve already sleeping in their small bed. The fireplace gave enough light for him to discern Brooklyn in details, so very loved by the painter. When James leaned to examine it closer, there was a miniature copy of himself leaning against a wall with a smile on his face.

“ _Signori, il museo sta chiudendo,_ ” a security guard broke off his reminiscence, and he hurried outside, as if he could physically distance himself from those infrequent glimpses of the past. (“Sir, the museum is closing.”)

The next day he flew back to Bucharest. He was renting a nice apartment facing Pieta Romana under the name of Buck Rogers, which he admitted was a taunt for the star-spangled man who was on his trail. He was waiting for him to show up, knew that he couldn’t run away from him forever.

He arrived to the apartment, did his sweep to make sure none of his security measures had been triggered in his absence, then emptied his luggage to get rid of that task, knowing it wouldn’t budge from its corner if he didn’t do it now. It was the middle of the afternoon, so he dressed up in casual attire and drove to the Piaţa Obor to buy fresh food that didn’t come in cans or frozen.

He liked to go to this one woman when she was working. She always looked tired with the two jobs she had on top of going to school, but she always smiled and was friendly with him, would even put extra fruits in his bags. He always made sure to give her extra money for her to keep.

“ _Aș vrea să am mai mulți clienți fel ca tine_.” (“I wish I had more kind customers like you.”)

“ _Păstrează banii, bine?_ ” (“You keep the money, alright?”)

He returned home and made food, lots of it, but the sad truth was it’d probably only last him two days if he didn’t snack on it in the middle of the night. Knowing himself, it would happen. Some nights when his mind wasn’t busy on a contract, he’d wake up from the verge of sleep with the absolute certainty there were intruders in his house hiding in the shadows. He’d remain in his bed, muscles taut and heart pounding in his ears, and would wait for Hydra to come get him.

After a moment, he’d get up to see for himself, but by that point his rational side would interject and assure him it was nothing but a hallucination. It didn’t help that feeling of anger or frustration sometimes overwhelming him, and he’d relieve his sorrow in ice cream and TV shows until dawn, and only when the rising light pushed away the dark would he get some sleep. That was why he enjoyed naps in daylight, with the surrounding noise of the city comforting him. In cryo there’d been no sound but the hum of the fluorescent lights.

Back home, James caught up on his email while he was eating, his business account. He always ended up deleting most of the requests, as they were irrelevant and not what his job entailed. Someone wanted him to kill their neighbor because their dog kept shitting in their yard? They probably deserved it. There was another one willing to pay ten thousand American dollars just so he’d show up at someone’s school and scare their child’s bullies. He didn’t feel like flying all the way to Colorado for that, so he checked the names and found some dirt to use as blackmail.

It took overall ten minutes before he was replying to their email, asking half of the offered price for the information. He enjoyed working from home in sweatpants, sitting cross legged at his desk in the living room, eating an entire box of cookies with the TV as background noise.

He continued filtering his messages, a few jobs were interesting so he moved them to a folder to reply to them later. Once that was done, he put work on standby for the day. Right now he deserved some time to enjoy himself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **For fun I made a list of everything I had to look up for this chapter:**
> 
>  
> 
> Lots of translation sites for the Dutsch, Italian and Romanian (Let me know if I butchered the languages, I know I probably did.)  
> [How to properly inject heroin](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gc-2A4F0kBk) (It’s a detailed video)  
> [Overdose symptoms](https://www.health24.com/Mental-Health/Drugs/this-is-what-happens-to-your-body-during-a-heroin-overdose-20180823)  
> [Buck Rogers](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Buck_Rogers)  
> [NEMO museum](https://www.nemosciencemuseum.nl/en/)  
> [Stroopwafel](http://www.dairyfreeandy.com/dairy-free-vegan-stroopwafels-syrup-waffles-worldwide-shipping/)  
> [Wani Vegan Bakery ](https://www.happycow.net/reviews/wani-vegan-bakery-rome-76303)  
> [University of Washington in Rome](https://www.washington.edu/rome/)  
> [Drake Previn](https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Drake_Previn_\(Earth-616\)) is an A.I.M. member in the 616 comics  
> The clandestine circle that Previn is part of was inspired by one of Patrick Senecal’s books, [Hell.com](https://www.babelio.com/livres/Senecal-HellCom/182921) (only available in French)  
> [Real Bodies exposition in Rome ](https://www.realbodies.it/)  
> [Piaţa Obor](https://wander-lush.org/bucharest-market-piata-obor/)
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr](http://cap-sweet-and-salty-sadness.tumblr.com/).


	2. quiet when I’m coming home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter’s title is from Billie Eilish’s song [ “when the party’s over”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pbMwTqkKSps)
> 
> Warnings: canon typical fight scene
> 
> Thank you to my amazing beta [ Tristinai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tristinai) for fixing my dumb mistakes! Go check out her stories, she's a wonderful writer.

James didn’t do much for the next few days. He’d been living in Bucharest for a few months, felt like he found a home here by himself. He had visited most of the notorious places, like the Palace of Parliament, the Athenaeum and some churches and museums, but he really liked going to the Old Town. There were numerous coffee shops for him to hang out at, and he'd meet potential clients there too sometimes. It might've been dangerous for him to meet them in the city he lived, but it was exactly why he did it, because no one would think he was this naive.

There were also numerous parks, and he liked spending a few hours there to soak up the sun, smell the flowers and just enjoy being alive. He'd lay on the grass and run his fingers along the fresh blades, hidden in the shadow of a tree. It was quiet during the weekdays, but on weekends he'd sometimes be greeted by curious dogs, their cold snout waking him from his light doze. He'd laugh and pat them for the good dog they were before the owner would call them back, and he'd be left alone once again. He wished he could adopt a companion, but he was too scared to wake up one night and realize he'd kill them in his sleep.

He sometimes went to the Herăstrău Park to rent a boat and slowly made his way around the lake. He liked to stop midway and read for a bit, observe the depths of the water underneath him; the fishes only visible thanks to his enhanced eyes. It was a hidden world by itself, and James would lose himself staring at the small creatures wandering around.

After considering boxing classes for a while, he bought the necessary equipment to train at home. It wasn’t the same as training and sparring with people, but he knew he’d get questions about his arm or would end up hurting someone. It’d only bring attention that he didn’t want on himself.

Besides, he could listen to audiobooks or watch TV while he trained, a luxury he didn’t feel comfortable doing in a group at the gym. He watched a lot of TV, come to think of it, but it helped him get in touch with the current trends and references. He was following the Top 100 movies on the Internet Movie Database and so far, it had been very useful.

He didn’t mind being on his own most of the time, but sometimes he got lonely and tried things he’d end up regretting one way or another. 

He went to a bar once, here in Bucharest. It actually was one in Old Town, a popular spot from what a quick Google search revealed. It wasn't anything like what he remembered bars to be: music was never this loud, and the drinks certainly not watered down this much, let alone this expensive.

He still enjoyed himself. The music wasn’t anything he ever heard, but it was perfect to dance to. He mimicked other people's moves until he got the gist of it. It was a lot of hip thrusts and arms in the air, and apparently it worked because he got a few dance partners, and he enjoyed all of them. He remained surprised for a second when a man started grinding on him, then he laughed and went with it. Never before something like that would've happened; fairies would hide in dark alleys and bars that needed a password to get in.

He used to go into these bars, every once in a while. He wanted to know how it felt to act like himself, because he was aware he looked at his men co-workers with more interest than he probably should. He still didn't know what he could call himself, bisexual or pansexual, but he never minded the gender of his partner.

He went back to the man's apartment that night, maybe for the same reason he went to secret bars. Would he feel the same way about sex than he did before? The guy was nice, super pretty with long lashes and a full mouth, and he made a cute snort when he laughed, and James tried to lose himself in him, enjoy his body to the fullest, but the truth was he wasn’t able to.

He didn’t want to remove his shirt because of the ugly scars on his shoulder, and that had thrown the other man off. He remained too self-conscious of his arm, of the danger he could put the man in if he stopped being in control even for a second. It hurt to think about because he'd work so damn hard to retrieve some sense of normality, but he wasn't. He stopped being normal seven decades ago when he went to war and was captured by Hydra, was experimented on that first time. It allowed him to survive the fall from the train, but it also refused him the sweet death he craved so many times afterwards.

It was only an illusion of the monster he'd become. He could believe he was human, try to be human, but at the end of the day he'd always be a weapon. The triggers were still present in his head, someone still had that small stupid book with the words that, if whispered in order, would erase everything he'd worked on these past months.

So he left the man's apartment with half an excuse and never tried again to do anything beyond casual flirting. He found he didn't really have that craving either: he felt fine being by himself. Alone, there was no one else to hurt.

He received a request that interested him, and so he packed his shorts and flew to Mexico City. As soon as he exited the plane, warmth enveloped him. It was winter here, but damn it was still too hot for what James was currently wearing. It was always too cold and dry in planes, so he wore two thick shirts, sweatpants and applied a good moisturizer.

Once in his hotel room he noticed there was a swimming pool. He still had a few hours before he had to be at the restaurant the contract stipulated, so he put on his swim shorts and headed for the pool, keeping his sunglasses on instead of the photostatic veil, just in case. It was supposed to be waterproof, but he preferred not to lose his face, literally, in plain view of others. His arm sleeve was sturdier and wouldn't budge, the attaches having a good grip in the uneven texture of the scars around his shoulder.

The pool wasn't occupied, fortunately, save for an elderly couple who were sunbathing with colourful cocktails. He put down his towel, book and sunglasses on a lounging chair and jumped head first into the water. It cooled him instantly, and he did laps until his muscles started burning pleasantly.

He got out after a while, breathing deeply, and barely blinked in surprise at the couple's gaze on him. He smiled politely before grabbing his towel to pat himself dry.

"You military, son?" The man asked him with an American accent. Midwest, he reckoned.

James didn't know what to answer to that. "Is it that obvious?"

"I served for over twenty years, I can recognize a comrade in arms. Where were you stationed?"

"Afghanistan, for three tours, and Iraq for two. How about you?" The lie fell easily. He'd have to make up a soldier persona for a contract, so he was up to date with the 21st century US army.

They idly chatted for about an hour. The woman had also been in the army as a medic, and they had met when he accompanied an injured soldier of his squad. He’d kept coming back with the excuse he was visiting his comrade.

It wasn't until a few years ago that they officially married, once they reached their pension. The US army allowed relationships with restrictions, but the couple had preferred to keep theirs as private as possible. James could understand that, living in barracks and never having a real moment alone except for stolen ones.

It'd been a long time since he had the opportunity for small talk, and he was a bit rusty, but the couple didn't seem to mind. They were really nice.

Memories flicked back to him as they related tales. He remembered living with the Howling Commandos in small tents, sharing meals over a fire barely big enough to warm them in the middle of nowhere, Germany. He remembered the silence in the morning when they made sure their weapons were clean and functional, the grimy taste of rations rolling around in his mouth until he forced it down.

There had been this one time where a cartridge remained jammed in his rifle in the middle of a mission, which had been a disaster on its own as he was the only sniper of the team. There was no time to try and fix it, it was only on the ride back to camp he sat down with the small tools of his cleaning kit that he tried to dislodge the bullet from the chamber, to no avail. The spring was probably overused and needed to be changed. They wouldn’t go back to the URSS for a while, so he’d have to improvise something for the time being and clean the hell out of the spring so it didn’t happen again.

He’d been too forceful with a small screwdriver and it’d flown out of his hand, rolled up to Steve’s feet. Steve had brought it back to him, sat down beside him, and offered his help. James remembered the gentle way he held the rifle, his long fingers careful until he found the problem and smacked the cartridge free. He’d smiled, happy to help, and James’s chest had grown warm at the gorgeous sight.

James sighed out loud, walking faster than someone who was supposed to be on vacation, back to his room. He had enjoyed talking to the couple, and remembering his own military time wouldn’t nullify the feeling.

Would Steve's hands have felt as soft as they had looked, if he had followed the urge to touch them? The question remained as he got ready and read the contract one last time. He had been contacted by a notorious gang here in Mexico City to eliminate the competition's hitman, which was a first in James’s freelancer career, but he was always up for a new challenge.

He spent a few hours searching the employee list of the Cuenca restaurant, looking up their social media while eating a late lunch. He also hacked into the restaurant’s administration and found the current schedule for the waiters, then filtered the employees until he found one that wasn’t working that night and had a similar build with him, judging by his Instagram shirtless pictures, minus the metal arm.

He didn’t have to hack into the workers’ insurance company for an ID photo. He took screenshots of photos with his face at different angles and started his application to create a 3D model out of them. While he waited for it to download into his photostatic veil, he gathered background information on the guy, just in case.

Before he went out, he made sure to put his hair up in a bun and tie it into place with a long delicate silver pin. He called for an Uber to drive him to Cuenca, a prestigious and huge restaurant that served meals the size of a snack for a ridiculous price. Needless to say, James wouldn’t normally eat there. Well, it wasn’t like he would be there as a customer anyway.

The secret was to be confident. If he hesitated, people would easily see through his lies, and nobody wanted that. So he got out of his Uber and strode to the employees only area, smiling at the first waiter he saw down there.

“Jimmy? I thought you weren’t working today,” he said with an American accent. James had briefly checked up on him, knew he was here with a temporary work visa.

"Boss asked me to come in at the last minute, and you know I need the money."

"Aww that sucks, man, but there are good tips tonight."

James nodded and walked to the lockers room. Jimmy's wasn't even locked, and there was cash in it among a half empty pack of cigarettes and some cheap perfume. James was confused for the apparent thrust he put in his co-workers, but also he didn’t care. It made his job easier. He changed into the uniform then punched in - if he stole an identity, at least they would still get paid - then headed for the restaurant, and it would further blur the investigation afterwards. He took a place beside the other waiters in line, smiling at them in greeting. He got a few in return.

His informer had told him his target would be here later in the evening. In the meantime he maintained his false identity and practiced his Spanish, but most of his tables spoke English. Mexico City was culturally diverse, and the restaurant had mostly businessmen and tourists coming here.

He didn't know how much work was involved in being a waiter, and maybe it was all this new work on top of watching for any sign of his target, but he didn't have a minute to himself. He was asked a few times about the food and had to come up with explanations, and nobody gave him weird looks, so he must’ve been doing fine.

Around eight he noticed a group of severe looking people take seats at one of the reserved tables, and James recognized one bald man as his target, Gilberto Alcantara. He wasn’t aware he would be accompanied by what he assumed were other members of the gang.

It was about to complicate things. He remained in character and brought them bottled water, then merely lifted an eyebrow at the rudeness of one of the women, half used to it by now. He took everyone's orders, rolling his eyes as he heard them starting to insult him when they thought he couldn't hear them. He wondered if killing them all would be worth it. One of the waitresses noticed his annoyance and chuckled in sympathy.

“ _Te ha tocado la peor mesa.”_ (“You got the worst table.”)

" _Son pendejos_ ,” he grumbled, adding their order in the computer. (“They're assholes.”)

She laughed and patted his arm, luckily not the metal one.

It took about an hour before his target excused himself to go to the bathroom. James said he was going on his break before following him a minute later. He entered the bathroom and found it empty except for the hitman who was in one of the stalls.

He locked the door, the music muffling the sound. He went to a urinal, did his business as he waited for Alcantara to get out.

When he did, he joined him at the sinks to wash his hands.

“ _¿Los empleados no tienen baño propio?_ ” He groaned, mostly to himself. James slid the thin hair clip from his hair. (“Don't employees have a bathroom of their own?”)

"I have no fucking clue."

He aimed for a hit at the carotid, quick and efficient, but the hitman was quicker than he anticipated and turned at the last second, so he stabbed his cheek instead. He used the remaining few seconds of surprise as an advantage and hit him again, but only managed to scrape his neck, not deep enough.

" _Pinche cabron!_ " (“Motherfucker!”)

Alcantara pushed him into the sinks and squeezed his arm to make him let go of the makeshift blade, but he probably didn't anticipate for it to be a metal arm. James easily twisted his wrist out of his hold, then slammed his metal fist in his face, used his hips to bypass him and put some distance between them. The hitman's nose was certainly broken, but despite the rush of blood streaming down his mouth and cheek, he was relentless. He did stagger, but not for long, and then he was coming back with fury in his eyes.

He kicked him in the chest towards the sinks, then grabbed his face and forced his head in the mirror, again and again, the shards falling around them. James saw stars as pain erupted in his scalp. He hit him until he let go, then used his knee in his groin.

One of Alcantara’s eyes was already swelling, but he was grinning, eager for more. James had read about his torture methods and the ruthless way he liked to kill anyone messing with the gang, how he preferred to use hand to hand combat, but James hadn’t anticipated him fighting this dirty.

This was not the smoothest contract he'd ever had, he reckoned, as he finally managed to get him in a headlock with his human arm. The contractor would hear of him.

By some miracle he hadn't dropped his brooch, and he mercilessly stabbed him in the neck several times until he went boneless in his arms, blood guzzling out with every beat of his heart. James let go of him, panting and sweaty, and noticed the chaos they'd made in the bathroom.

He didn't look any better either, his clothes bloody, his veil gone and his hair all sticky, with glass shards still in it. The back of his head was throbbing with pain.

He fixed his appearance the best way he could, retrieved his veil and sighed when he realized it was broken. He'd have to fix it; that was his last one.

He was taking a photo of his target when someone banged at the door. Shit. There was a window close to the ceiling above the sinks, so he climbed on one and started opening it. Of course the sill would be jammed, and he managed to slip through just as the door was forced open behind him.

He had about a minute before all hell broke loose. He fell on the pavement below, wincing, and made his way back into the restaurant. They would be looking for an employee, so he had to retrieve his civilian clothing. Also they wouldn't be full of blood, so bonus. He slipped back inside from the employee entrance and managed to not come across anyone on his way to the lockers room.

He grabbed his stuff, changed in thirty seconds, and slipped away just as quickly, the dirty clothes in his bag to destroy later. He was pretty sure Alcantara still had strands of his hair caught in his now limp grasp, as well as his blood splattered around the bathroom, but he wasn’t worried about that. His DNA wasn’t anywhere in any police database. Another perk of allegedly being dead for seventy years.

The streets were busy this late at night, loud and festive. He made his way around quickly, feeling a bit dizzy now that he wasn’t running on adrenaline. He should've predicted things might turn sour, what with the history of that gang, prepared backup plans just in case. The contract had asked for the target to be stabbed in the neck with a hair pin, for an unknown reason, but he should’ve used the knife in his boot instead of almost being scalped alive. Nevertheless, it was done, and it was best if he left Mexico as soon as possible.

He had to tip very generously to a cab for them to drive him back to his hotel without questions. He lost consciousness a few times on the way, drowsy and fighting in vain what he quickly assumed to be a concussion. He stumbled towards his room, ignoring the inquiry from the receptionist, made it to the bathroom where he fell face first on the hard tiles.

He barely felt the pain in his cheekbone. He swallowed down bile and got up on his knees to start the shower, then crawled in the stall, still fully clothed. He stood under the freezing water for a few seconds before panic overtook him and he changed the temperature, then laid there longer, hoping the pressure of the shower head alone would clean him.

Gingerly, he touched the back of his head and started removing the glass shards as best he could without moving his arms too much. He was sure he'd puke if he moved too fast, was already on the verge of it. A few shards were lodged in his scalp, and he was so out of it he barely felt them when he pulled them out.

He blacked out again and woke up to cold water pelting down on him. He turned it off and stood long enough to remove his clothes, shivering. His head felt better, at least. He used the little strength he had left to pull himself out of the shower and into his bed. He went back to sleep in less than a minute.

He woke up to the sun beaming onto his face and his face in a drool spot. He hadn't closed the blinds last night; in fact, he was surprised he had the good notion to close and lock the door.

His mouth felt like cotton and tasted horrible, his ribs still ached, but his head wounds had closed so only a bit of dried blood remained.

He padded to the bathroom and brushed his teeth until his mouth felt squeaky clean. He had left the bathroom in disarray last night, his still wet clothes in a pile on the floor and stained towels a nightmarish sight in the bath. His phone was flashing with a new message from behind the toilet. With a groan, he bent to pick it up.

_Got an alert. They're onto you._

This was sent half an hour ago by one of his well paid informers. Hydra had found him.

Well, fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A few of the things I had to look up for this chapter:**
> 
>  
> 
> [The Old Town](https://unknownbucharest.com/the-old-historical-center/)  
> [How to repair a jammed fire weapon ](https://www.quora.com/What-usually-happens-to-a-gun-when-it-is-jammed-and-cannot-fire)  
> All the Spanish translations, revised by the incredible [Mica Sky](http://mica-sky.tumblr.com/) <3  
> [Gilberto Alcantara ](https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Gilberto_Alcantara_\(Earth-616\))  
> [Bucky’s pretty hair pin/brooch ](https://www.lot-art.com/auction-lots/Antique-silver-hair-pin-Italy-19th-century-Spadinn-for-a-Sperada/19391927-antique_silver-04.7-catawiki)  
> [Concussion symptoms ](https://www.webmd.com/brain/concussion-traumatic-brain-injury-symptoms-causes-treatments#1)
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr](http://cap-sweet-and-salty-sadness.tumblr.com/).


	3. They’re dying to stop you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I used to be James Buchanan Barnes, Sergeant of the 107th Infantry Regiment, number 32557038. I also was the Fist of Hydra, the Winter Soldier, nothing but an Asset. Now I’m just a brainwashed ghost. How many identities can one person have before losing themselves?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudoses and the comments, I really appreciate them! This chapter's title is taken from the song ["Run Boy Run"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lmc21V-zBq0) by Woodkid.
> 
> Edit: Now with beautiful art from [Reloumi](https://reloumi.tumblr.com/)! Here's the [rebloggable post](https://cap-sweet-and-salty-sadness.tumblr.com/post/185272943102/reloumi-drew-me-this-amazing-art-of-my-fic).

James quickly brushed his teeth and started packing, fast but efficient despite his headache. It wasn't the first time Hydra had tracked him down, and sometimes he would wait for them, make sure the trail would turn cold, but not this time. He was too bruised from last night, the location prone to many accidents, and he didn't want to involve civilians.

So he made his way over to his bedroom, filled his duffel bag as fast as he could in this physical state, then remembered his wet clothes and packed those in a plastic bag as well. He swore under his breath when he couldn't find his photostatic veil and gave up on it. It was busted anyway and would need hours to fix. It'd be easier to buy a new one, and maybe a spare.

He was about to open the front door when he stopped, listening intently. There was soft shuffling in the hall, footsteps muffled by the thick rug.

He turned around and went outside onto the balcony he hadn’t even have time to enjoy during his stay. He was on the 7th floor facing the interior pool, and as much as he normally wouldn’t hesitate to just dive right into the water below to make his escape, he was carrying his luggage around and a concussion. So he put the duffel’s strap across his torso and started climbing down the metal railing, dropping onto the balcony below.

He forced the door open and slid inside, pushing it closed behind him. There was nobody in the room, luckily, or in the hall outside. He half jogged to the staircase, remaining alert until he made it out of the building through the fire escape.

He let out a breath only when he was walking in the street, mingling with the others. He got out his phone and replied to his informer to ask how they’d found out and if he could get him another veil while he remembered it.

They probably expected him to go to the airport ASAP, so instead he bought a car for dirt cheap and drove to the Tehuacán airport with a quick stop at Puebla to eat and buy a few Gatorades. The serum always made him recover fast, but he had lost a lot of blood and needed to rehydrate.

He bought the first ticket he could get, which happened to be for Calgary, Canada. He went to the bathroom to change into a warm outfit. A quick google search confirmed it wasn’t that cold over there, but it would be a stark contrast from Mexico.

Ugh. He had looked forward to a few more days in the warmth.

He slept through the flight and woke up groggy and confused about where he was. The flight attendant was probably used to it and reassured him with a smile, nonplused at his prosthetic arm he didn’t think of covering up in his hurry and with the head trauma. She even suggested a hotel to him after he told her he didn’t have one yet. James was humbled by such selfless kindness. It reminded him there were good people out there. Bad people were just all over the place all the time, but her lack of judgment was refreshing. 

He took an Uber downtown, checking his messages on the way. His informer had assured him he could get him as many veils as he wanted, that he just needed to tell him a drop point. They also already had left a false trail for Hydra. They had fallen right for it and thought he was in South America. The tension between his shoulders relaxed at that.

When he first was on the run from Hydra, he made amateur mistakes in his panic, going exactly where they had planned and falling right in their grip, and only his fighting skills had saved him from being back on the chair. Only two things had kept him going at first. One was he never wanted to see that chair ever again in his life unless it was to pour gasoline on it and turn it to ashes. He’d never heard of anyone having shell shock about sitting down, and yet here he was, sometimes thrown off when the angle of the seat was too far back, leaving him panicked and feeling stupid, months of progress seemingly undone.

The second thing was he didn’t want Steve Rogers to have almost died in vain to make him understand he was a person and not just a weapon.

He had a life before, had friends and family and a reason to live. He didn’t want to have suffered for decades and managed to run away, just to be caught in a moment of stupidity. He’d rather die than fall back into their hands.

He took a few days for himself to relax and get back on his feet. As soon as his ribs felt better, he bought hiking gear and went to the Banff National Park, a gorgeous place. Alberta was known for its wonderful landscapes and he was not disappointed. There was something freeing about walking so high up in the mountains, the snow making crispy sounds underneath him and the air smelling fresh and clean. He rented a lodge on Lake Louise, going out every day for hikes around the park. Every day there was something new to explore.

The cold bothered him at first, until he walked on one of those postcard worthy lakes, the sun turning it into liquid gold, and with the mountains standing on each side... James didn't mind a bit of cold after that.

The tourists were also very nice, coming from all over the world, and nobody was looking at him twice, with his beanie and unkempt beard. Nobody remembered James Barnes, after all, and he was supposed to be dead. The few surveillance cameras, he evaded and kept his face away from them, but he doubted anyone would ever look for him in the depths of some Canadian mountains.

He was wrong.

His nose was steadily running from a complete day out and his feet were uncomfortably sweaty in his boots when he came back one day to his lodge, his mind on hot chocolate and the warm temperature inside. He walked inside and saluted the front desk attendant on his way by.

"Sir, there was someone looking for you earlier," the man said. "I didn't give him your room number, but I almost had to call security."

James sighed, then gave a small nod. "Thank you."

He went to his door and noted the door trap had been triggered, but the handle hadn't been forced open. He unsheathed the knife strapped against his arm under his coat and opened the door like he normally would.

The room was built in length, made with blind angles from where he stood at the entrance. Still, the intruder hadn't even bothered with hiding, instead sitting at the table and leafing through his journal.

"You know, diaries are meant to be personal," he sighed, sniffling as his nose didn't get the memo that this was a dangerous situation.

"You used to read mine all the time when we were teenagers, making fun of me for having a crush on Penelope.”

James didn’t remember that, or of any Penelope.

“Where’s your team?” He asked once he made sure they were the only two in the room.

“I’m here alone.” Steve rose from his seat, facing him. He was so beautiful, like a dream that he never could keep, and every time James looked at that face, he was reminded of everything he’d lost. He put away his knife, grabbed a tissue to dry his nose.

“Why are you here?”

“You saved me from that river.”

“I’m starting to regret it. If I’d known you’d be this obtuse at not leaving me alone afterwards, maybe I would’ve left you to drown.”

He almost regretted his words at Steve’s pained expression. He wasn’t in his Captain America suit, but a casual coat with a red and golden scarf and warm gloves. James removed his beanie and set it down with his gloves on the counter of the kitchenette. He started preparing hot chocolate for two, and when he turned back around, Steve was observing him.

"Do you remember who you are?"

Of course he would ask him questions like that, blunt in his search of answers. James wondered if Steve looking out for him had been only in the name of his benefit, or for Steve's sanity.

"I used to be James Buchanan Barnes, Sergeant of the 107th Infantry Regiment, number 32557038. I also was the Fist of Hydra, the Winter Soldier, nothing but an Asset. Now I’m just a brainwashed ghost. How many identities can one person have before losing themselves?”

He gave the steaming mug to Steve who accepted it wordlessly, his jaw set. He didn’t make any move to take a sip, but James drained half of his own drink in one large gulp. He grabbed a tissue to wipe his nose, removed his coat and draped it across the chair opposite Steve.

“I can help you remember,” Steve said after a heavy pause, clearly trying not to hover near him, his hands closed in fists at his sides. “You can come live with me at the Avengers tower, I’ve talked to—“

“Steve,” James interrupted his tirade before he got any further. “Are you really doing this to help me, or is it for your own benefit? If I wanted to come with you, don’t you think I would’ve been easier to find?”

Steve sat again when James did. He clutched his mug, his long fingers running along the smooth surface. He seemed to think James could disappear at any moment if he didn't keep him in his line of sight.

"When I woke up in this century, I thought I was alone in this new world. I didn't know how I could continue to live and learn everything again. I'm lucky enough to have become part of a team, people whose personal stories I could relate to, to help me ground myself in the present. Otherwise I probably would've lost myself a long time ago."

"I'm glad you did, but that's not how I want to do things. I've been forced to execute orders for seventy years, I want to explore and discover the world to my own rhythm, my rules. I understand you're trying to find your Bucky in me, but I'm not that person anymore."

Steve licked his lips, his eyes turned downcast. "I just wanted to help."

"If I need it, I know I can turn to you, but not on the account we're friends. You're a stranger to me."

It was stretching the truth a bit far, but James couldn't forever keep away from two groups tracking him down. Steve had to stop chasing him.

Steve wasn't pleased by it. Had they been friends who cared that much for each other?

"So you don't remember me?" He finally asked, his voice soft.

James shrugged. "Not really. I get flashbacks sometimes but not often."

Steve finally took a sip, then another. He sniffed, and for a second, James was sure he was crying.

"It's how you used to make it. Cocoa and sugar in hot milk."

"There were too many mix choices at the store, thought it'd be easier to do it the simple way. And it's maple syrup, not sugar."

"It's good." Steve drained his mug and stood up, brushing back blond hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. He took out a file from his messenger bag and put it on the table. It was Hydra's file on James.

"I figured you might want it. I'm sorry for tracking you, I'll stop,” he stated, resigned. He waited a beat longer, then made his way to the door. James watched him go, indecisive. Sweat had finally started drying against his back, his scalp felt itchy and gross, and for a second, he hated himself.

"Wait. Gimme your phone." The chair scraped against the wooden floor when he rose to his feet. He made the short distance between them. When Steve hesitated, he added, "I'll give you my number, so you can text me instead of stalking me."

"Oh.” Steve smiled a bit as he retrieved his phone, and James tried not to stare. He didn't sneak around on the Starkphone and quickly added his name to the sparse list of contacts.

"Here. Nice background." He wholeheartedly agreed with the shot of Iron Man in mid action.

"Thank you." Instead of taking his phone back, Steve's large hand squeezed James's, his thumb stroking the small silver crescent on his wrist.

He huffed a chuckle. "You might be different from the person I used to know, but your scars are the same."

 

Once he left, James started packing his things. If Rogers had been able to track him, someone else could, which meant this wasn’t safe for him anymore. His time as a mountaineer was over. He spent one last night at the lodge and experienced hallucinations for hours. Even if he was exhausted and wanted nothing more than sleep, once he was on the verge of falling asleep, he kept hearing quiet footsteps inside, his mattress shifting underneath him, and for a second he would be sure there was someone else in the room with him.

So instead he took a midnight stroll, losing himself in the quietness of the night. There was something comforting in the knowledge that if there was a threat, he would be able to hear it, and nothing he saw or heard was a product of his imagination.

There was part of him that knew he was scared of sleeping again, after Steve’s visit. He didn’t want to dream and recall memories he didn’t wish to have. He felt like he currently was in a grey zone, ignorant of people he was starting to miss despite his will.

He couldn’t live like this forever.

He came across some sleeping mountain goats, recognizable by their size and white hair. He didn’t want to disturb them, but he spent a moment observing them at a respectful distance and taking night photos of them.

He went back to his hotel and left for the Calgary Airport a few hours later. He returned to Bucharest, his suitcase filled with warmer clothing and various souvenirs.

No matter how he hadn't wanted to be influenced by Steve's impromptu visit, his anxiety was really bad for a week, accompanied by more hallucinations when on the verge of sleep, his heart beating furiously in his ribcage, squeezed against the mattress. He decided to move all his fragile decorations out of his bedroom when he almost shot one of his vases. It made the room bare, devoid of emotions, and reminded him of when he didn’t have any personal effects.

He started playing Breath of the Wild on his Nintendo Switch during his sleepless nights. He’d seen a young girl play it in the Banff Park a few days earlier and was intrigued by the complexity of the universe in such a small device, so he bought a Switch and didn’t regret it. He lost himself in the game for hours, and the next thing he knew the sun was rising and he could finally get some sleep.

 

A few weeks after his impromptu trip to Canada, he was going through his emails, more requests to avenge someone's reputation, when one caught his interest.

_Thought you might want to have a look._

Attached were coordinates and some photos. The first one was of a warehouse that seemed in ruins and abandoned, if it hadn't been for the suspicious amount of people entering and exiting. He frowned, wondering how this was relevant. He opened the other photo. It featured a truck being unloaded with the Hydra logo on the boxes.

Who would send him that? The email wasn't signed, and the address was youknowhoiam@gmail.com, which made him raise an eyebrow. He looked up the coordinates and matched them to a location somewhere in Lithuania.

There was no CCTV around the place, but he found the front cam of some idiot’s truck recording a transaction. The video also showcased the directions to the nearest gas station.

Well, like the saying went, someone’s stupidity was someone’s gain.

He booked a Ryanair flight to Lithuania, went to his PO Box to retrieve his brand new photostatic veil. He hadn’t emptied his luggage suitcase from his last trip, so he reluctantly did that with a movie in the background. He changed the outfits, put his dirty clothes in the washer, filled his travel size bottles of shampoo and body wash and replaced his two missing hair ties. He swore they disappeared through another dimension or something.

He arrived during the night, which was just perfect for him. There were less people and those he saw were sluggish from lack of sleep, easier to deceive. He hijacked a car in the parking lot and drove to the gas station. It was an old place, the sign barely standing and creaking in the almost silence of the night.

James got out of the car to tank up. He was chewing gum he found in the glove compartment, a Dubble Bubble that hadn't changed of taste. He was the only one at the pumps, go figure the reason, and the highway wasn't occupied, with maybe a car every other minute.

He went in to pay, the cashier giving him a once over when he thought he couldn't see him. He was wearing layers, with his baseball cap low on his face and the week old scruff he had going on. Maybe the veil's features were too nice once again.

Outside he took a wide berth around to find a good spot and hid his car, then himself. He sharpened his knives as he waited, finished the entire packet of gum until his jaw ached from the size of the bubble gum. A few trucks came and went, but not the one he was looking for. Finally, at around 2 AM, a suspicious truck without any logo on its sides made its way in the parking lot and stopped at a truck island.

The woman got out and made her way around it to reach the gas pumps. She put on thick gloves, opened the valve, and slid the nozzle in to start filling the tank.

She knew what she was doing, clearly. It was filled after a few minutes and she started cleaning the windshield, then made her way to the backlights with the squeegee. James waited for her to be in a blind spot of the store to emerge from his hiding spot, directly behind her.

He had an arm around her and a chloroform handkerchief pressed against her face before she had time to react. She struggled for a moment, but James was holding her tight, and soon her body went limp against his. The squeegee clattered dully on the ground.

There was no need in killing her. The drivers didn't work for Hydra but for a third-party delivery service that happened to deliver to this warehouse. He would not eliminate someone if he could afford it. For too long he’d killed without mercy, like a dog trained to take out everyone in his path, but no more.

He dragged her unconscious body in his old hiding spot so nobody would disturb her, went into the truck to bring back her purse and a blanket he tucked around her. It wasn't particularly cold but just in case. He also put a bottle of water beside her.

He put back the squeegee and went to the back of the truck, to verify what it was transporting. The double doors opened easily.

One look confirmed his assumptions. He grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Some of the things I had to look up for this chapter:**
> 
>  
> 
> [Banff National Park](https://www.pc.gc.ca/en/pn-np/ab/banff)  
> The hallucinations/sleeping problems are inspired by my own experience with [hypnagogia ](https://www.medicalnewstoday.com/articles/321070.php)  
> [How to fuel a truck](https://thegoodthebadandtherv.com/2016/04/22/fuel-truck-stop/)
> 
> I recently subscribed to Spotify, and I made a [playlist of this story](https://open.spotify.com/user/45ks8wo3rhkh6ahffy72xe3ut/playlist/2RxJ0E7kfY4Kc0yn4m1mqp?si=X6cISovAROGSnAG6Cpz-fg)! For those who also are part of the Dragon Age fandom, a friend just recently made a [Discord ](https://discord.gg/RCmNcm) for Cullrian fans. :)
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr](http://cap-sweet-and-salty-sadness.tumblr.com/).


	4. nobody telling me I should be more than I am

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Raleigh Ritchie’s [Time in A Tree ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VB30oo2YYf4)  
> S/O to my awesome Beta [Tristinai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tristinai/pseuds/tristinai)!  
> Warnings : Discussion of religion. It’s James sharing his evolution with his personal religion, but I thought I’d still put a warning just in case.

The truck was full of explosives.

The thing with those, it only took one spark for the whole lot to get triggered. Just like white men, according to the Youtube comments and Reddit posts he’d read.

James closed the doors and climbed in the front cabin. The GPS was already set for his destination. There were some fruits in the glove compartment he made quick work of. Now, to make this thing move.  He wasn't so used to driving a stick shift truck, but he’d googled how-to. It couldn't be this difficult, right?

He might have scraped against an ad banner that had no right to be there as he first turned to exit the parking lot, but he cautiously made it to the road. It took less than an hour to reach the warehouse, with only a few minor accidents. Knowing what was in the back made him more careful, too. He didn't hit anyone, at least.

The warehouse looked deserted to anyone who didn't know better, but a camera was hidden in a small notch above the doors. Someone in black came out and walked to his door, tapping on the glass, so he rolled it down.

" _Pristatymas_ " he mumbled with his best accent, resisting the temptation to just grab the goon and break his neck right then and there. ("Delivery.")

The other started talking in fast Lithuanian, which James only understood half of. He was in no way fluent in that language, but he thought he was asking where the “usual woman” was.

" _Aš nežinau,_ " he said with a shrug, with the air of someone who didn't give a fuck. ("I don't know.")

The guard muttered something under his breath, disappointed. He’d been looking forward to seeing her, it seemed.

Finally the garage door opened and he drove inside with the whole expertise of his newfound skill. He climbed out with the delivery papers, listening with half an ear as he took note of their gear. They had a handgun and a submachine strapped to their back, and he could see some of them carrying grenades. Not so typical for a simple looking warehouse.

He gave the clipboard to the man, then wandered about, hands clasped behind his back. There were three people in the entrance area. The rest were rows of metal organizers filled with boxes, but whether they were more explosives or something else, James didn’t know. He could hear chatter further off as well, coming from the back. James couldn't remember ever coming here as the Asset. This place had to be important, otherwise it wouldn’t be this occupied and well-protected.

He placed himself on the side of another goon, the last one with their back to them. Foolish move. He slid the knives out of his arm holsters and tightened his hold on the handles. Took a deep breath. Spread his legs shoulder-wide to balance out his weight.

He first stabbed the goon closest to him in the heart through the back, the sharp blade scraping against a bone as it dove through the ribcage. He threw the other knife at the goon with their back turned, hitting them in the head, and in the same movement retrieved his knife from the first body. Clean, quick. He was done waiting.

The guy with the clipboard panicked, fumbled to get to his gun. James didn't even need his knife, he just punched some sense into him.

" _Aš nieko nepadariau_ ," the man half-panicked, half-sobbed, his nose bloody. ("I didn't do anything.)

" _Užsičiaupk_." James had no time for people who had a change of heart under pressure. ("Shut up.")

The man started pleading for his life, so James pressed his blade against his throat.

" _Užsičiaupk_. Uh..." James searched for the correct translation in Lithuanian, but he couldn't remember. "Ah, fuck,”  he groaned, switching to English.” What's in here?"

The man frowned. "I, I don't know-"

James punched his nose again, felt the cartilage give way to one side with a dull sound. His arm made a soft whirring noise as it adjusted.

" _O viešpatie_ , you're, you're..."

"Yeah, I am, so answer me. What's this place for?"

"It's a distribution center. We just keep st-stuff."

"You won't for much longer."

" _Kas čia vyksta_?" A new voice inquired, footsteps approaching. In a second they would see the crumpled corpse with a knife still embedded in their head and alert the other goons. He needed to move, and fast.

He slit the man's throat with his other hand muffling his mouth, guiding him down silently on the floor. He then rolled under the truck in a swift movement.

Feet made their way around the vehicle, carefully. He waited for the goon to discover the bodies, then silently slid up behind them to take them down. So many weapons, and yet no time to use them. James grabbed a handgun and a submachine just in case and explored the rest of the warehouse. He took down two more, deemed the place empty when he couldn't hear anything.

He shot down the few surveillance cameras he found. He had his veil and an arm sleeve, but not many people could go rogue and take down evil lairs on their own. Well, not many that James knew of.

There was only one computer in the back, to keep track of the inventory. James went through it. It was mostly weapons, including EMP grenades and trackers. Some of it could be useful, but he couldn't air travel with them. He played with his bottom lip as he made a Google search with his phone, found that he could travel back to Bucharest by train. They didn't search luggage, did they?

He looked at the rest of the computer and what he found made him grin. There was a list of locations where they distributed those weapons, everything James needed to know. He took a picture of it before smashing the computer to pieces, just for the pleasure of it. There was blood drying on his sleeve, he noticed when he reached for the box containing EMP. He looked some more and found a duffel bag to put them in as well as the trackers. They came in various sizes. He also found a blocker for phone signals so it wouldn't be detected or tracked.

Once he found everything he estimated to be worthy, he started distributing the C4 around, working quickly just in case reinforcements had been called. He doubted anyone had time, but better to be safe than sorry.

He grabbed the duffel bag and the remote control. Outside and at a safe distance, he activated it and watched with glee as the whole place exploded like fireworks on the Fourth of July. He snapped a few pictures.

 

Back home in Bucharest, in the safety of his apartment, with a hair mask on and basking in the hot lemon-scented water of his clawfoot bathtub, he replied to the email with a picture of the destroyed warehouse. There was a lot to be done now: Hydra would know he was in possession of the list of other locations and would be on high alert, so he had to plan accordingly.

He was looking forward to it.

It was good to set a goal in his mind other than survive. He already thought about chasing down Hydra, in the past, but truth was he had to save himself from it first. He’d escaped with his mind scattered, barely a person held together at the seams, and he'd forget days at a time. He'd wake up and not know where or when he was, only the urge to run away focused in his mind. He stole and hid away for weeks, lived in a hijacked car he would move around to remain unnoticed, until he stole a laptop.

The idea of offering his assassin services had first come from despair, because he knew nothing else he could do better and he needed money, but the more he thought about it, the more it was simple logic. He'd transform what he had been forced to become into something useful, and people were willing to pay a lot of money for various illegal activities. His first contract had been a messy one, literally, as he had to pretend to be a janitor in a hospital so he could access a personnel only area. Good thing those bin baskets were so big.

He laid in his bath until the water turned cold and his hair was starting to be crispy with the drying product. He rinsed himself and got out, wrapped himself in his thickest bathrobe and keeping a towel around his head. He made food for himself and ten invisible guests and sat himself on the couch to eat while watching Mr. Robot. It was nice and rare for him to feel this light, so he enjoyed it and relaxed for the day. He had been eliminating threats for months now, but nothing was as evil as Hydra in his book, and nothing felt more satisfying than cutting one of its heads. There was only so many that could grow back once he cauterized them one by one.

He completed a few contracts, to focus back on the issue at hand. He couldn't lose his temper over this, no matter how he just wanted to launch missiles on them and rid the world of more scum. He didn't know anyone that owned missiles, and he couldn't just go around and steal some. Beside, he preferred to execute people from closer, discovered it helped a lot to deal with his shell shock.

Two weeks later he sat down and correlated all the known locations on a map. There were seven places throughout Europe and Asia, and only one in South America. The locations were coordinates and of course when he checked them on Google Maps, he only found blank spaces. He knew better than to trust that. With a bit of help from his hacker friends, he found a way to take actual, detailed satellite pictures. It was enough.

A couple of those bases already have been visited by the Avengers, he discovered as he studied each and every one of them. James couldn't help the satisfied smile at that knowledge. That made five left for him.

Destroying the bases was easier than he had anticipated. Hydra still hadn't recovered from Project Insight's failure and their exposure to the world. James counted on it for as long as he could, using a badly scheduled rotation to sneak in an Indian base and burn it down from inside out.

He anticipated they'd think he would leave ASAP, so he instead stayed and explored Mumbai's culture. He hadn’t had the opportunity to visit many Asian countries yet, and he loved the city. It was a beautiful mix of traditional and contemporary architecture, and he grew a farmer’s tan simply by walking the streets sightseeing.

He bought juicy fruits that made his fingers sticky and his stomach warm in the Crawford Market, explored the Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Terminus, stayed respectfully silent as people prayed to their gods at the Global Vipassana Pagoda. It was a melting pot of religions, with a devotion that remained the same.

He used to be Christian, going to the church every Sunday with Steve, his ma and his own family, hated how he couldn't run around with his friends because his outfit was clean and ironed. He remembered reading the Bible and praying every night before bed, remembered asking for forgiveness in the confessional and the way the father had dismissed his feelings when he admitted feeling lust for a co-worker who happened to be a man, instead being forced to pray again and again until he forgot the meaning of the words.

He remembered believing in an all-forgiving God and yet being ridiculed for being poor and having very little education.

Now... he believed in the pure evilness of humans, what they were capable of in the name of power and money. He believed in his own abilities, his strength and intellect, the small ways he tried to do good despite everything that had happened to him. He believed in the goodness of some people, half-hidden in the overwhelming darkness of this world. Superheroes shone like beacons of hope, but not every hero wore spandex. He didn't know if there really was a higher being, but if there was, they were an asshole to make him suffer so much.

After Mumbai was a small village in Vietnam.

James walked alongside the Red River into the thickness of the jungle, calm but for the life going on around him. Sweat had gathered on his lower back and was dripping from his face when he arrived, but the hiking took almost more time than the destruction itself. This location worked almost solely on power generated by the river, and no power meant the emergency mode sealed all doors shut. James only needed to throw a volatile poison in the vents for it to circulate throughout the building and kill everyone.

As this was a Bio-Organic Weapon Research Facility, he thought it was only fitting to use one of their experiments that had landed on the black market. He waited for an hour before he put on a gasmask and made his way inside with a [bullpup](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bullpup) submachine gun, a gift that came with the poison - his contact never failed to provide him with exactly what he needed.

He shot anyone who wasn't dead already, rolling his eyes when he spotted a map on the first floor. He already had the whole place memorized, but he couldn't believe how imbecilic some of the agents could be. A map to an evil lair, really? Who thought this was a good idea?

The labs were equipped with a self-destructive code, and once James made sure nothing of value was left behind, he typed it in. He knew there was a helicopter on the roof, and as much as he could get in trouble for illegally flying out of a country, it was worth it. He always liked flying around, and while some would be airsick or complain about heights, he'd stare outside and marvel at how small the world was from up there.

He flew back to Romania. As he'd destroyed three bases in a month, he determined this was a good start. Now the last two were respectively in Ukraine and Chile. After this, he would rest, not take contracts for a few weeks. Maybe take off to Bali. He always wanted to visit one of those heavenly islands, get a proper tan. Bury his toes in the hot sand and taste the salt on his lips.

Perhaps he could head right away to Ukraine, deal with another base right away. His submachine gun still had two and a half magazines of ammunition, his knives were sharp and clean, the only thing is he was starting to get peckish, but his stomach could wait. Also he was pretty sure he had a grenade he found in the Vietnamese base...

He probably should’ve paid more attention to flying the helicopter rather than planning to destroy a neo-Nazi secret base. He unknowingly angled the helicopter too low over the south region of the Carpathian Mountains, and as he leaned over to check in his bag, so did the helicopter. It hit the trees, hard, then twisted around before the blades snapped. It crashed to the ground, stopped by the trees and rocks.

At least it remained upright. James whined with pain, the seatbelt putting all the pressure on his chest. He hurt his ribs with this reckless move. He kicked the door open and pushed the bag out. He meant to gracefully land on the ground and instead crumbled in the dirt with a painful whine. The seatbelt had prevented his defenestration but probably bruised or even fractured his ribs in the process.

He could destroy Hydra bases without a scratch, no problem, but ask him to fly a helicopter and he'd crash it for sure and hurt himself like a dumbass because he was trying to have a bit of fun.

He laid in the grass for a minute, breathing as deep as he could through the pain. Once he didn't feel like he was about to pass out, he pushed himself against a fallen trunk, gritting his teeth. He slowly lifted up his shirt to examine his torso and yup, there already was some bad bruising forming. He pressed his metal hand against his sore side, sighed at the small relief. He couldn't stay here, someone had to have heard the commotion, and sooner or later they'd come to investigate. He couldn't see any trails, but the mountains were a pretty common tourist attraction.

He fumbled in his bag until he found his first aid kit. There was KT tape in it for incidents like this, but he kept his cold hand on it for a few more minutes to reduce the swelling. From experience his ribs would heal in a few weeks when a normal human’s would take months, but in the meantime they hurt a lot.

He started shivering, clammed with cold sweat, and he realized how cold he was. He got out a thick acrylic sweater and covered himself the best he could with it, only using one arm.

He warmed up a little, applied the tape and called it a day. He put on the sweater and climbed to his feet. He could take very shallow breaths without hurting, but at least he was alive, he kept reminding himself. He grabbed his bag and started the slow journey to the south, back to Bucharest.

He had a bottle of water tucked beside the submachine, and he drank small sips to stay hydrated, but he was starting to feel hungry and the small energy bar had barely made a dent in his appetite.

He was considering eating some roots when he came across a public hiking lodge of some sort. A couple saw him and immediately assumed he had fallen while hiking, talking to him with concern. James didn't protest when he was brought to the infirmary. It appeared he had some dried blood on his chin from biting open his lip, thus the reason the couple had acted so quickly. That and his bed head, he reckoned.

“ _Nu e grav,_ ” he protested uneasily. He didn't want to be prodded. ("It's not serious.)

“ _Spune-mi ce te doare_ _._ ” ("Tell me what hurts.)

He gestured at his head. His walking looked fine at first glance and he kept his back very straight to hide his injury. He couldn’t show his metal arm.

The nurse gently touched his head for any bumps, and when she found none she checked his pupil reaction.

“ _P_ _ari bine_ _, dar ar putea fi din cauza șocului._ ” ("You seem okay, but it could be the shock.")

She let him go with the promise he'd book a room to the inn across the street to get some rest. He did that and felt better after a nap and a meal. He looked up the local train schedule to Bucharest and bought a ticket for the next morning.

With that done, he had time to walk around the small town. The houses were beautiful, European borough typical, and for a second, he imagined himself living in one. He could grow his own garden, have plants everywhere, and maybe even get a pet, because in that reality he wouldn't have shell shock anymore and wouldn't be a threat to anyone sleeping with him.

But no, he couldn't have that. No need to cry a river about it.

He went to the sole pub and tried the local beer; bitter with a raspberry after taste. He didn't hate it, but he preferred something stronger, so he next ordered whiskey on ice and nursed it as he let the ambient noise wash over him.

The laughs and positive mood most people were in lightened up his own mood. He chatted a bit with the bartender but was mostly left alone. Still, hidden in the eye of this small village, he felt content.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Some of the things I searched for this chapter:**  
>  All the terrible Lithuanian and Romanian translations, I’m sorry. Edit: Thanks [ Loyakys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loyakus/pseuds/Loyakus) for the Lithuanian corrections!  
> [ Crawford Market](https://www.crawford-market.com/)  
> [ Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Terminus](https://whc.unesco.org/en/list/945)  
> [ Global Vipassana Pagoda](http://www.globalpagoda.org/)  
> [ Carpathian Mountains](https://www.britannica.com/place/Carpathian-Mountains)  
> [ Broken Ribs in Car Accidents](https://www.cordiscosaile.com/blog/broken-ribs-from-car-accidents/)  
> I made a Spotify [playlist of this story](https://open.spotify.com/user/45ks8wo3rhkh6ahffy72xe3ut/playlist/2RxJ0E7kfY4Kc0yn4m1mqp?si=X6cISovAROGSnAG6Cpz-fg)!
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr](http://cap-sweet-and-salty-sadness.tumblr.com/).


	5. Heavy boots of lead (Fills his victims full of dread)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of the story is from Black Sabbath’s [Iron Man](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jNo3zmhXE9Y)  
> Thank you to my Beta [Tristinai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tristinai/pseuds/tristinai) for always being awesome and fixing my stupid mistakes, I swear I don't do it on purpose. She also writes wonderful stories and you should go check her out.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter : Mention of abuse in prison

It was around 1am when James received a message from an unknown number. It was a silly gif saying _“Hey I hope your day is going well. Here, have this cookie. Bye now!”_ with a floating cookie underneath.

James quickly figured out who could have sent him that, but the better question was why he would send such a thing. The response quickly came in another message.

_Sorry about that. Tony thought I was brooding too much over my phone and took it on himself to break the ice._

James smirked and replied with a gif of his own.

_It's fine. I gave you my number for a reason. I'd rather receive gifs than squad teams at my door._

_I wanted to say sorry again for that. I was so blinded by the notion you might be in danger that I didn't realize how badly I acted._

Another text, a second later. _Tony says it was stalker-ish._

_He's right._

He went back to the inn, slept soundly and woke up well rested. In the morning his ribs didn't hurt as much, but he changed the tapes to not damage them further. He ate his included brunch and walked to the train station. He hadn't had the opportunity to take the train in Romania yet, and the scenery was worth it. He spent the majority of the trip staring outside, deep in thought. It was odd that he didn't mind trains, considering his history with them. Going in that direction, there wouldn't be much for him to enjoy anymore, and as much as he had trauma, self-care and recovery were in a great part of helping him to deal with it. The pride he felt at the notion he was getting better was worth everything.

He arrived home and set himself on the sofa with his laptop, an ice pack and Mr. Robot. He checked on the news and found out about a battle happening in New York.

James searched for all of the footage he could find, watched with avid eyes the way Iron Man made a bunch of them fly to their doom and Captain America handled his shield like a frisbee. The team was efficient in their disparity.

Someone had gotten a video of the Captain from pretty close, and James wondered if it was worth risking their life for. Steve seemed to think the same, as he started lecturing them about security in between punches. That video had a million views in less than twelve hours.

James hesitated, then messaged Steve a gif of Kris Jenner saying _"you're doing amazing sweetie"._ He didn't get the whole Kardashians-Jenner family, but he liked the gif. It reminded him of Mean Girls that he watched a few months ago, with the cool mom. The plot wasn't that great (and wasn't on the IMDB top 100 movies list) but for some reason the movie had become a huge sensation.

He worked on his emails for a while, laughing at some of the requests. Some people were ridiculous. He was composing a reply about going covert in a prison when his phone pinged with an incoming message.

_"Are you okay?"_ This was Steve's subtle way of asking if he was nearby New York.

_"Better than you."_ He got up to make himself some coffee, suddenly jittery. He remembered working with a team and caring about every member. Was Steve feeling the same way for the Avengers that he had for the Howling Commandos? As far as he was aware, he hadn't chosen his teammates like he had back in the day.

He added dark chocolate milk and sugar to his coffee, the warmth of the cup comforting.

_"Stay safe."_

_"You too."_ James hovered his thumbs over the screen, for a second pondering whether or not he should offer his help, before hitting send. He'd be fine, James repeated to himself. When had he started to worry about Steve? The best way for him to help was to take care of Hydra, the Avengers didn't need him.

He drank his coffee and studied the next Hydra locations while he recovered. After a few days he could slowly start exercising again, some speed walking on the treadmill, and a week later he could do pretty much anything that required him to lift his arms, including the cupboards in the kitchen. He'd been living off takeout and started cooking as soon as it didn't hurt too much, even if it mainly consisted of pasta and homemade sauce he kept in Mason jars.

He couldn't believe he'd been this dumb. He couldn't even put down a helicopter. This was laughable. Not even the hitman in Mexico had managed to injure him this much. Head wounds had the benefit of the numerous blood vessels, so it always healed faster for him. Ribs were far more serious and usually took months to completely heal. He'd been lucky they only were fractured and not broken, and that his lungs hadn't been contused by the trauma.

As soon as his lungs stopped hurting when he took a deep breath, he flew to Chile to destroy another Hydra facility. It was deserted already, so it wasn’t difficult to set bombs and turn the place into a smoking pile of rubble.

The prison contract was time sensitive, so he started preparing for it in his hotel in Santiago. He hacked into the Correctional Service of Canada to familiarize himself with his soon-to-be undercover security guard position and watched a few French Canadian movies.

He flew to Canada, but to the province of Quebec rather than Alberta. He arrived at the Mirabel airport in the evening and took a taxi to his hotel. A package was waiting for him in the decrepit lobby, which he brought to his room before opening. It was a uniform and his badge with the ID photo James had sent in. His backstory would be simple enough: he was a new transfer from the penitentiary in New Brunswick, which had mainly English-speakers, so it made sense.

He prepared everything he needed and went to bed early to somewhat recover from the jetlag. It never hit him strongly, but he preferred to be at his best when he went undercover, especially to this length.

He woke up early and did a few exercises to warm up his muscles, finished with some stretches. He went downstairs to eat breakfast, glad that there wasn't that many people around so he could eat his fill. Then he went back to his room, took his duffel bag and left the hotel.

The prison was one of the most secure in Canada, if not the most. Whoever had contacted him knew of his reputation and was rich enough to not worry about his price. Either way, James had accepted the challenge. He’d done something similar in the past, but not to this extent. He'd taken the place of one of the two agents driving a transfer car and killed everyone inside to hide who really had been his target.

Now he'd have to operate from the inside. From what he understood, the assassination of one of the inmates was to be a message that nobody was out of reach of James's contractee.

James presented himself to the front desk, grateful that he'd studied the map because this place was big. The receptionist greeted him with a smile, and James almost felt guilty to lie to him.

_"J'ai été transféré du Pénitencier de Dorchester,"_ he explained with a small smile. ("I was transferred from the Dorchester Penitentiary.")

The man on the other side of the counter smiled back and opened a cabinet hidden from James's view. " _Bien sûr, on vous attendait. Vous allez simplement avoir besoin de signer les papiers de transfert, et après je vais vous montrer les vestiaires._ " (Of course, we were waiting for you. You'll only need to sign the transfer papers, and then I'll show you where the lockers are.")

Despite the work environment, people seemed nice. James had met more rude people in the streets of New York. He was slightly nervous about this job but if things turned sour he could easily make a run for it and no one would find him.

Once he filled the papers he had to go through a metal detector, the usual procedure. James did as he was told, the sleeve around his metal arm canceling the signal, and a plastic knife hidden against his back. He then was taken to the lockers where he got changed and met a few of the other officers. It was a mix of men and women. Some of them greeted him as he found an empty locker and got changed in one of the stalls. The uniform was fitting him snugly, the left sleeve almost too tight around the combination of his metal arm and faux human skin.

Officers weren't allowed firearms in case a prisoner took possession of it, but he had pepper spray at least.

He was shown around by another officer for a good portion of the morning, then he was in his first situation with the prisoners. It was just to keep them in check while they were heading for the cafeteria, but it gave James an idea of what he was going to deal with.

It was only male prisoners and half of them were glaring at the officers while the other half followed in silence, morose. James understood the feeling, but there was a reason for them to be here.

Not all the prisoners ate at the same time so he didn't spot his target until later that day, when he surveyed the courtyard. Alistaire Smythe was lithe and small, but that didn't seem to bother him with the way he was strutting around like a peacock. Someone obviously was protecting him, either from the inside or outside. He wasn't part of any gang, as far as James knew, but his scientific input was valued by many so he wouldn't be surprised if some super rich villain, maybe his father, was protecting him. That, James hadn't been informed of, so it wasn't important. The person who contacted him didn't seem interested in that, just had told him that whatever research he was doing was to not be resumed.

Some of the inmates played it rough, intimidating others to do their bidding. James wasn't supposed to be able to hear them from this distance, and he didn't know what to do about it. There was a hidden hierarchy in here that not many people could influence, certainly not a freshly transferred officer. For a second James pondered what Stevie would do in this situation. Get beaten up for telling the bullies off, probably, but not regretting that he hadn't done anything. James sighed through his nose, already so done with this whole thing.

He could see who was in charge in here, the tough looking ones staring down at others who wouldn't meet their glares. There was a common area in the cell block where James saw more of that behaviour happening. A few bullies were surrounding a smaller one, their bulk size hiding him from the rest of the room. James saw red and started stalking towards them, only for the other officer to stop him. She shook her head.

" _Pas avant que des coups se donnent_." ("Not before there's any hit.")

" _C'est ridicule, c'est visiblement pas des coups de poing qu'ils le forcent à prendre._ " ("It's ridiculous, it's obviously not punches they're forcing him to take.")

Despite this, he took a deep breath to calm down. The situation reminded him of an alley, seventy years ago, but this time there was nothing he could do.

" _Si on fait quelque chose maintenant, ils vont juste attendre plus tard, et ça va être encore pire._ " ("If we do anything now, they're just going to wait later, and that'll be even worse.")

James understood the logic, but it didn't mean he had to like it. He brooded and glared back at whoever dared to look his way. They seemed to understand he was a bigger threat than everybody together here was, so they stayed away.

He had to maintain a few more days of this charade before he finally managed to strike. The inmates could go to classes if they wanted to, the penitentiary offered a plethora of different subjects. Even if most of the time they would simply read a school book and do their homework in it, it offered entertainment and education. The inmates were paying for their post-secondary education, so they were serious about it.

James had to escort some of the inmates back and forth from their cell to the classrooms. That day Smythe had a class, James read on his schedule. He wasn't supposed to be the one escorting him, but a quick deletion of his co-worker's daily assignments took care of that. It would guarantee him some time to get out while they figured out what happened. He’d memorized the camera angles and knew the blind spots, but there weren't many. He thought about doing it during one of the cell searches, but it was heavily monitored both by cameras and people at all times, to prevent sexual harassment.

" _Smythe, mains contre le mur,_ " he barked, opening the cell. ("Hands against the wall.")

" _Ooh, le bel Américain qui me menotte. Tu peux me fouiller aussi si tu veux._ " ("The pretty American that's handcuffing me. You can search me if you want.")

James didn't say anything and escorted him through the halls that already were familiar in the few days he'd spent here. When he pushed the smaller inmate in an empty class, the target started getting nervous, playing it for more flirtation. He almost felt bad for him, then remembered that just because he didn't look the part, didn’t mean he wasn’t a bad person. Most Hydra scientists working on him had looked the same.

He unsheathed his plastic knife.

Once it was done, he took a photo and made sure the blood on his pants wasn't too visible before he stepped out.

He didn’t vary from his schedule until lunch an hour later where he exited the building. No one had suspected anything wrong. He hijacked a car, drove back to the old hotel he’d been staying at for the past days, gathered his things and took the road once again to Montreal.

He left the car in a random street near downtown and walked to a cute Airbnb he rented the night before. It cost quite a lot but he figured with that last gig, he deserved it. James ordered food and took a shower, to wash himself of the blood and guts he had on himself. After, he stared at himself in the mirror.

His stubble was closer to a beard now, his eyes had that unmistakable sign that he needed a break, and his skin was dull, almost ashy-looking. His hair needed a trim, it was getting too long again. He grabbed his electric shaver and got rid of his beard, then used a five-blade razor to make sure his jaw and cheeks were completely smooth. He applied a soothing lotion and a moisturizing mask, and accepted his food with it still on. It made the delivery person laugh.

He ate and watched an episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine.

He sent the photos via email to the contractee, and deleted them from his cellphone afterwards. He noticed he’d received an email from the same person who had sent him the coordinates of that Hydra warehouse a few months ago, youknowhoiam@gmail.com and clicked on it, thinking it might be more coordinates to some secret base.

_I have more information you might be interested in. Would you like to meet up?*_

James knew who it was by now, had quickly figured out that ominous email address. For the man to want to meet in person, he probably had something to give to him. If he meant him harm, he would've done it by now.

He searched for a location, then wrote back. _How do you feel about planets?_

 

The Rio Tinto Alcan Planetarium was even bigger than he anticipated. James loved this sort of complex, could spend hours exploring everything. In fact, he did spend hours in the past doing that, when he wasn't meeting superheroes in secret. He walked around the fossils and was lurking near the EXO exhibition that was showing a 360 degree view of the sky from Earth when footsteps approached him from behind, deliberately loud in the midst of the ambient noise. James turned around.

"Fancy seeing you here," Tony Stark said. He hadn't even bothered with a cover. Even with casual clothes and tinted glasses, that facial hair was undeniable, though many had tried to replicate it. Despite the recent events, he was still as handsome as in the pictures, if not better looking now that he was in front of him.

"Never for subtleties, are you?"

"There's no fun in that. You look good."

James had gone to a barber shop to get rid of his split ends, and he did feel better, more put together. He had a moment in there where he felt extremely uncomfortable sitting in that chair, but the hairdresser had been patient with him. They probably dealt with difficult customers all the time. The chair faced a big mirror, so he felt better being able to see who was behind him, hoping no vampire was visiting that day. "Thanks."

He noticed Stark was fidgety, glanced at the planets but mostly pretended the information panels were more interesting. Then James remembered reading about the Battle of New York, how he'd thrown himself through a portal to save Earth.

He groaned in annoyance and took him by the elbow to walk them to the nearest hall, where no galaxy was surrounding them. Tony had made a squeak of protest at first but followed without protest.

"You're such an idiot, for accepting to meet me here,” James frowned, angry at Stark for obviously not taking care of his well-being. Yet another one. “Why haven't you said something? No wonder you're friends with Rogers."

Tony blinked in surprise. Then a smile spread across his face and he laughed. "I knew I was going to like you. Honestly I didn't think it would be this bad, I thought it was just a few planets."

James rolled his eyes, not sure why he felt so worried. He barely knew the man... but he knew Iron Man. He'd watched too many videos of the superhero risk his life over and over, be reckless in the face of danger. It wasn't just the armor he liked, it was the selflessness of the man wearing it, the way he wouldn't listen to Rogers' orders to do whatever he thought would save more people. In his suit Tony Stark didn't need to wear a mask.

In front of James, he wore glasses, probably to have his AI send him information on the small screen. Prototypes of those floated around on the dark web. Stark hid behind that persona of eccentric billionaire, but he wouldn't be here if he didn't want to be.

"There's an ice cream shop nearby I wanted to try, wanna go there?" James asked.

"Sure. We can take my car, if you want."

It wasn't a rented car, but one of Tony's prestigious beauties. James wasn't super inclined for cars but he could recognize when something was pretty. The ice cream place was small, but had a minimalist modern vibe that he enjoyed. Tony went for a sundae while he took a strawberry soft serve.

"Why did you want to meet?" He asked once they settled on a bench outside, never to beat around the bush.

Stark lost that easy smile he had going on. "Steve didn't force me to do anything, if that's what you're wondering. In one of the secret bases, we found footage of... what they used to do to you. In the chair." He swallowed. He reached into his jacket's pocket, gave him a small box. James took it with his metal hand, the one not holding the cone, and figured that if he wanted to hurt him, he would've done it already. He opened the box. It was a small chip, similar to the one containing the photostatic veil, but also different. He turned it in his palm, but there was inscription on it, no lot code.

"I made it for you. It's a veil for your arm, lighter than your other one, but it'll still block the signal of any metal detector."

"Oh...Thank you. But why?"

Tony shrugged. "I'm an engineer, I build stuff. And I'll admit Steve worrying over you got me to improve your equipment, only for the sake of getting him to stop moaning over you."

James stroke the smooth surface, then pocketed it. "You love him a lot, don't you?"

He had the delight of seeing the faintest blush appear on Tony’s cheeks. He grinned. "That's alright, I won't tell him."

They continued to eat their ice cream in silence for a while.

"Him and I... It hasn't always been easy. We started off awfully, but then we got to know each other, and for some reason he decided he wanted to be with me."

"He seems to have good judgment of character."

Tony laughed. "That's what I told him too, and yet." He shook his head. "Anyway, so the fact that he worries about you makes me worry about you too."

"You shouldn't. I'm perfectly able to take care of myself."

"I know. Freelancer assassin, right? But there's a difference between what your brain and what your heart knows."

James chewed and swallowed the last bit of his cone. He checked the time. “I have to go.”

“Following a tight schedule, I see.”

“Yup. Contracts to fulfill and all that.”

Which was the truth. He had another contract in a small city in Denmark, then he could go back home.

“Before you go, we found a lead on a book on the program you were in. I thought you’d want to get to it before we do.”

James accepted the portable drive, slowly exhaling. He stared at it for a moment.

"And if I wanted help to get rid of it?"

Stark smiled, the fine lines at his temples making him even more attractive. "Then let us know when winter’s coming, and we’ll be there.”

James nodded, rose to his feet. Before he left, he hesitated. "No matter what you might think of yourself, you’re a good person, Stark. Steve and you... I'm glad you found each other.”

He didn't stay to hear the reply, but he thought he heard a faint, "Me too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A few of the things I researched for this chapter:**  
> [The gif Steve sent](https://images.app.goo.gl/d37Kk55E796fo2AbA)  
> All the French translations by yours truly. It was my time to shine.  
> [Rib Injury recovery](https://tsaco.bmj.com/content/2/1/e000059)  
> [ Alistaire Smythe](https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Alistaire_Smythe_\(Earth-616\)) is a villain in the Spider-Man comics. He’s not Canadian but I thought his backstory was somewhat fitting here.  
> [ Planetarium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tristinai/pseuds/tristinai)  
> [ Ice cream place ](https://www.happycow.net/reviews/hoche-glace-montreal-92127)
> 
> I made a Spotify [playlist of this story](https://open.spotify.com/user/45ks8wo3rhkh6ahffy72xe3ut/playlist/2RxJ0E7kfY4Kc0yn4m1mqp?si=X6cISovAROGSnAG6Cpz-fg)!  
> Find me on [Tumblr](http://cap-sweet-and-salty-sadness.tumblr.com/).


	6. Like a bird in the night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Aurora's [The River](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P7lE-G1oC34). The full lyric is "Like a bird in the night, your emotions deserve to be free".  
> Warning for this chapter: Explicit violence. It's the most detailed that I've written so far in this story.  
> S/O to my awesome Beta [Tristinai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tristinai/pseuds/tristinai)!  
> 

The contract in Denmark went by seamlessly, fortunately. James pretended to be an Internet technician to get in an apartment building, kill a Nazi pedophile, decapitate him and leave his head in a washing machine. All in a good day’s work.

Meeting Stark had left him more disconcerted than he had anticipated, and he was looking forward to returning to his nest and taking it easy for a few days. Bucharest was the same when he came back to it, his apartment silent. James relished in its stillness as he put away his things. He put the small drive beside his computer, didn’t touch it for the time being.

He cooked, listening to music his father used to listen to when James was a teen, screeches of the songs in his memories nonexistent in the crisp sound that came out of his speakers.  He watched the news as he ate, starting to feel sluggish with the more food he ingested. He wrapped himself in a throw once he was done and fell asleep almost instantly, Romani rolling over him like a comforting cocoon.

He woke up disoriented, the jetlag seriously kicking in, and he groaned as he stretched. He'd slept for fourteen hours.

He made coffee and ran on the treadmill to wake up, did some weights until he was drenched in sweat. His thoughts were clearer after he took a shower.

He sat down at the counter island in front of his computer. His emails were piling up in his inbox, and he filtered some of them before giving up for the day. There were just too many requests for him to wear latex and scare someone's coworker. People needed to stop watching American Horror Story.

He put in the SD card. There wasn't much on it, only a file on a certain Vasily Karpov. He opened it.

He had been an operative working for Hydra in the second half of the 20th century, in charge of the Winter Soldiers Project until his retirement and would still be the owner of the book containing the codes to control them. To control James.

He continued to read about his feats until he stumbled on an operation from 1991. As he read, his metal hand had gripped the marble countertop, but he didn't realize until he snapped a part of it, the chunk remaining in his hand when he pulled it back. He swallowed hard, slowly put it down, and read the report again. Karpov had used the words on the Winter Soldier, on James, and ordered him to take back a prototype of the serum from Howard Stark, and by all means necessary. The Asset had accomplished his mission and eliminated both Howard and Maria Stark in the process.

As he read, he remembered that night. Like a word that had been on the tip of his tongue all this time, the memory came back to him. He had driven a motorcycle, a Harley-Davidson Sportster that had been one of the only joys he’d had at that time. He remembered the dull sound of Howard's skull hitting the steering wheel, over and over, and the pleas of Maria going softer as he strangled her to death.

His chest ached with pain, but not for himself. No, he hated himself in that moment, and he couldn't imagine facing his parents' killer and looking him dead in the eyes without flinching. Tony Stark was either an utter idiot or the bravest man he’d ever known.

Fingers shaking, he retrieved his phone and texted Steve.

_Did you know?_

He sat there, looking at the destroyed piece of counter, until a ding made him look at his phone again.

_Can I call you?_

James took a deep breath, got up to grab a glass of water. He sat in a loveseat by a window, the sun casting long shadows and warming up his face. He pressed the option to call Steve. He answered after two rings.

“Hi. You read the file?”

“I just did. I...”

“None of that is your fault, you have to know.”

“It was still my hands that did it.” He sighed. “He gave me that card, he knew about it.”

“We both discovered at the same time.” Steve was moving, judging from the wind the mic was picking up. James heard some muffled conversation, and his heart ached even more. He pressed his forehead against the window and closed his eyes. He didn’t know whether he wanted to cry or scream.

“James? It’s Tony. I hope you don’t get mad that I stole Steve’s phone.”

“I gave it to you,” Steve protested.

“Whatever.”

It was nice to listen to them banter, despite the situation.

“Now I understand why you didn’t tell me right away, you didn't know how I would react. I'm so sorry--"

"Let me stop you right there. You didn't have a choice in the matter. Hydra is who killed my parents."

"It doesn't make me feel less guilty, not right now." He swallowed down a lump. When he spoke again, his voice was steadier. "I read the file and the memory of that night came back to me. There’re so many innocent people I've killed."

"Do any good memories come back from time to time, too?" This was Steve, warm and soothing. James pressed the cellphone closer, took a deep breath.

"I remember you loved to paint, when we could afford the canvases and the paints, which didn't happen a lot until I started a job at the docks. Our apartment was musty and half occupied by mold, but we'd try to keep it as clean as we could, for your asthma. I remember the freedom I felt as a Howling Commando... The same feeling I now have, when I forget for more than two seconds I'm being chased by fucking Hydra."

He drank his glass of water, his throat painfully tight.  

“Have you seen the news?” Tony piped in after a minute. “I built an evil robot, and now all the Avengers are angry at me.”

“Tony,” Steve chimed. “We’ve talked about this.”

“I’m trying to make conversation here.”

“No one’s angry at you. We’ll take care of the situation just like we did everything else.”

“Tell that to FRIDAY.”

“FRIDAY?” James asked. He put down his glass on the coffee table, started wandering around his apartment while he listened to them. For a moment he didn’t feel lonely.

“My AI.”

“I thought JARVIS was your AI.”

“He was destroyed by Ultron.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” The AI had controlled Stark’s suits and had been a part of the Avengers Tower in New York. He’d discovered that when he initially checked up on every Avenger member.

“It’s fine, it’s my fault anyway.”

“Even if it is, doesn’t mean it hurts any less. It was your creation after all and was with you for a long time.”

He pursed his lips and returned to sit back in front of his laptop. The file on Karpov was still opened.

“Thank you for worrying about me, but you should focus on Ultron instead. I know what I have to do now, I’ll be fine.” He closed the call without giving them time to reply, put it on silence and discarded it on the counter. They were better off without him, and it seemed that they already had enough on their plate.

He went to his bedroom to grab his diary, the one he’d been writing in on and off. He sat cross-legged on his bed and started pouring everything he could remember of the memory of December 1991, every single grimy detail. He liked to document everything that came back to him, just in case anything happened to him again. He would rather die than be caught in Hydra’s grip again, but at least his progress wouldn’t been in vain.

It also made him feel lighter, sharing his emotions and thoughts. It allowed him to process them and understand them better, as he was forced to unravel the mess in his head and put it in a linear order.

Afterwards he googled how to fix the countertop, and he did it by mixing the epoxy he had with marble dust and using it as glue. He managed to make it look as if it never had been broken, but he could still see the crack if he looked close enough.

He set himself to a different kind of work. He had someone who used to be part of an evil corporation to find. He was almost laughingly easy to find. The man never bothered to use a false name under his property, as said-corporation was supposed to be secret.

James booked a flight for Ohio. He'd never gone to Cleveland before. American soil was different on its own from wherever else he'd already traveled to, and he thought that was because a part of him was still attached to it.

Karpov was living in a residential area, houses with picket fences and small gardens and cars lined up in the clean driveways. James wore all black and waited for the blanket of darkness to embrace him to trespass and break open the back door. His metal arm whirred as it adjusted to the pressure.

All day he'd been watching this house and had seen no sign of anyone inside and no car parked in front.

He waited and listened for any sound. Hearing none after a minute, he slipped inside, closed the door behind him as silently as he could. It was pitch dark, not even a small lamp had been left turned on. James ventured towards what he assumed was the bedroom. His clothes seemed to be all present, his toothbrush and toothpaste laid by the sink in the bathroom. This place could overall use some TLC, because it was pretty messy and bare of decorations.

He searched the office, found nothing interesting in the drawers, not even in the locked one. He knocked on the floors, then the walls and found a secret storage of weapons, and a gun hidden underneath the mattress, but still no book.

Once he searched everywhere and didn't find anything in the house, he made his way outside, to the shed. There were multiple locks sealing the door. That certainly didn't raise suspicion. James twisted and pulled each and every one of them, opened the heavy locket and walked inside.

It seemed the man was still very passionate about his past job, judging by the walls littered with photos of operations and reports. Leave Hydra, but it'll never leave you. In the middle stood a chair that made James's blood boil. He grabbed the arms and pulled, pulled on them until the chair was ripped from the floor it'd been screwed onto and slammed in the wall behind him. He threw it at the opposite side, in a midst of paper and torture tools. He took a deep breath, forcing his anger back down.

Something red peeked through the pile in front of him. It was the book. He picked it up, dusted it off. He remembered some people holding it across from him, speaking out the series of words that had transformed him into a mindless weapon.

He put it in his jacket's pocket just as a car was parking in the driveway. James slipped back into the house through the back door and waited in a spot he knew would be hidden from the newcomer, even with the lights turned on.

It didn't take long. Heavy steps went up the porch, then keys rattling before the door opened. James hadn't disturbed anything in the entry, so Karpov shouldn't know anyone was here unless he were to go directly in his office or bedroom. Those places, he hadn't bothered tidying after himself.

Karpov lingered in the entry to remove his jacket and shift through his mail, then made his way towards the kitchen. He walked by James without noticing him, with James's eyes trailing after him. He remembered the man with less grey hair and wrinkles.

He silently followed him, but clearly the man had lost his touch, so he purposely made the floor creak under his boot. Karpov startled like a frightened animal and turned around.

"Do you know who I am?" he said, his tone murderous.

The man backed away, into a chair. He mumbled something, then repeated it louder. “ _Желание_ ” (“Longing”)

"Oh no you fucking aren't." James bounced and gripped his neck with his metal hand, lifting him off the ground in the process. As angry as he was, he was also scared shitless. If he started losing it right now, he probably wouldn't come back from it for a long time, and Hydra would get a hand on him, and he'd turn back into this puppet brainwashed again and again until he wouldn't recognize his own name anymore. He squeezed Karpov's windpipe harder when he scraped his nails against his metal hand in a futile attempt to let him go.

“ _Ржавый”_ (“Rusty.”)

"You don't deserve to spew another word." He could feel his heartbeat against his fingers, turning more frail by the second. He unsheathed his knife and stabbed him in the chest, the blade lodging itself deep in what he assumed was a lung. The man gurgled and blood poured out of his mouth. James stabbed him again and again, four more times, rage making him see red, and he screamed. He twisted his wrist and broke his neck.

The body slumped against the wall, blood tainting his pale t-shirt, and James recognized the telltale smell of urine.

He washed his knife and his hands in the sink. He got out of the house, closed the door behind him, and walked back to his rented car a few streets away.

The night was calm, crickets singing in the otherwise unmoving air. He sat in the driver’s seat but didn't ignite the car, and that's when he realized he was shaking. He took out the red book that was poking him in the chest, and he stared at it without opening it.

In it was a manual on how to control him, and he had it now. He was in control of himself. Finally. He let out a chuckle, then he started laughing, a full on belly laughter that he hadn’t had in decades. He clutched the book and laughed for what felt hours, tears streaming down his face. The hilarity slowly died down, and only the ache remained, that endless pit deep in him, and the laugh turned to sobs. He pressed a hand against his mouth to muffle himself, but he couldn’t stop crying, chest heaving for air. It felt like so much pain had washed away, that he had cleansed himself of it.

He let out a deep shuddering breath, wiped his face with his shirt. Fuck, but he felt better.

He put the book in his duffel bag on the passenger seat, then drove to a grocery store near his hotel, bought whiskey and non-dairy ice cream to celebrate. The cashier looked at him with sympathy and he realized not only that he'd forgot to put on his veil mask, but his face was probably red and blotchy from crying.

"Tough break up?" He asked as he scanned the items. James huffed a laugh.

"Something like that. It's for the better."

"Ah, I get that. I used to be in a toxic relationship, but now I found a partner who doesn't judge me, you know?"

"I wish I knew..." But even as he said that, two persons came to mind.

Ugh.

He ate the whole tub of ice cream while he binged an entire season of Black Mirror. The next day he brunched at a small restaurant - Instagram worthy judging by the other customers who took lots of photos of their food and of the decor. He was browsing through the news when he learned of another attack on Sokovia. Something about robots and an explosion. From what he could read, Ultron had been eliminated. Well, he wasn't sure if Ultron was public knowledge, but he'd done his research, so he knew about the megalomaniac robot, it was like evil Tony. He hadn't had any new text from Steve, and it was fine. It was fine.

Sokovia was south of Romania, but he hadn't been present in the country either times it had been attacked, so he didn't know how affected Europe was from that threat. The Avengers weren't the most respectful of architecture when it came to getting rid of international threats.

He visited the museum of natural history during the afternoon before he had his flight back a few hours after. It was a little bit more than 13 hours and he slept throughout a good portion of it, only waking up to the air hostess letting him know they'd land soon and offering him a meal.

It was early morning in Bucharest but he was wide awake after sleeping for so long. It was actually almost disconcerting he'd managed to relax enough to fall asleep. The lady beside him had been really sweet for the short time he spoke with her.

There were a few Hydra bases he ought to destroy still. He would take care of them in due time.

It was warming up in Bucharest, but still had to wear the sleeve veil if he wanted to go out with short sleeves. At least Tony's creation was super light, somewhat felt like a thin snake skin, not that he ever touched one. At least he didn't think he did.

He took out the book from his bag and contemplated what to do with it. The right thing would be to destroy it once and for all... But he didn't know if he could. It was one of the last connections to his past, to everything he endured, and somehow he couldn't get rid of it. Instead he sat down and read it. It was detached, the way he was mentioned, like a piece of machinery that needed an oil change every once in a while. Except it was a human being they were writing about. They'd seen him as nothing other than a weapon.

Documentaries on WWII extermination camps showed that same detachment, Nazis had considered killing all these persons as the final product of a long process, and none of them had believed to be responsible for their deaths. They had only delivered the merchandise and pressed buttons on a machine. Called on their innocence up to the last moment, in the name of the greater good.

James called bullshit on all this. He read how to reconfigure himself, how to operate in case of an overrun attempt - aka him running away. The location of the chair was mentioned, a military facility in Russia. The access codes were written in a crisp handwriting, black ink stark on white paper. He memorized everything.

The last section were the trigger words to activate his program. He paused at them, then read the first word. _Longing_.

He waited for something to happen, but after a minute, read the next word: _Rusted._

_Furnace._

_Daybreak._

His chest felt tight, the spine of the book protested under the pressure, and he forced himself to relax and take a deep breath. He was scared, but he didn't feel anything different in his head. Usually a growing buzz accompanied the words, but he was suspecting they needed to be spoken to have an effect.

_Seventeen, benign, nine, homecoming, one, freight car._

Nothing.

He ripped the book in two, the spine giving away like butter in his grip. He brought an aluminium bin on the balcony and threw the remains in it, then lit a match and threw it in there as well. The paper was old and dry, easily caught on fire. James watched it burn, until nothing remained. Nothing but ashes.

 _Thank you,_ he texted Steve. He had no doubt he also had a hand in the delivery of the intel.

_I'm always here whenever you need help._

James went back inside and made himself coffee, prepared himself a late lunch that consisted of banana pancakes and a ton of fruit with maple syrup he'd brought back from his trips to Canada. He licked the sweet syrup off his fingers and pulled his laptop to him.

Now for that base in Siberia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The head in a washer is a very small reference to one of my favourite video games ever, Vampire: The Masquerade – Bloodlines. If you know what I’m talking about, I love you.  
> [Russian trigger words](https://www.quora.com/What-were-the-exact-Russian-words-in-Cyrillic-used-on-Bucky-Barnes)  
> [Cleveland Museum of Natural History](https://www.cmnh.org/)
> 
> I made a Spotify [playlist of this story](https://open.spotify.com/user/45ks8wo3rhkh6ahffy72xe3ut/playlist/2RxJ0E7kfY4Kc0yn4m1mqp?si=X6cISovAROGSnAG6Cpz-fg)!  
> Find me on [Tumblr](http://cap-sweet-and-salty-sadness.tumblr.com/).  
> I'm also the mod of a new [Marvel Discord](https://discord.gg/5k5ysr), come and join! All pairings are welcome.


	7. Go tell the world I'm alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from the song [”Who Will Save You Now”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3ffst3XN3f8) by Les Friction  
> Warning for this chapter: Mention of animal death. It’s half a sentence, but still.  
> S/O to my awesome Beta [Tristinai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tristinai/pseuds/tristinai)!  
> 

James arrived at the Tolmachevo Airport, in Siberia. It was much hotter than he anticipated, sweat gathering at his temples and behind his knees as he waited for a shuttle. He rented a car and went to the grocery store to stock up on snacks and a few meals.

He would do some surveillance, so that meant he’d have to stay more or less a full day in the car. Driving there was easy enough, with the clear weather and the coordinates entered in his GPS. He listened to an audiobook and nibbled on mushroom-filled piroshkies that tasted familiar, but he couldn’t remember when he ate them.

Once he was close enough, he hid the car and continued the last kilometers on foot.

He surveyed the access door for a full day without anyone coming or going, so he presumed either the facility wasn't used anymore, or some mad scientists were too busy inside to bother facing the outside world.

He shoved the plastic wrap of his last defeated snack in his bag and hid the bag in the snow. He hadn't seen any surveillance camera, but he still was careful as he approached the doors. The lock mechanism was old and covered in ice, James had to hit it a few times for it to break and give him access to the wall digit number pad. Nobody had used that door for a while.

He entered the code.

The door unlocked with a clunk, and he pulled it open. Darkness enveloped him as he crept inside, soft footsteps echoing in the hallway. He found the main switch and turned it on, blinked at the sudden light.

The facility looked the same, with grey, austere walls like the other bases he’d visited, and yet James knew he'd come here before. Had walked this hall back and forth many times.

It was deserted, just like he predicted. Just how many had been abandoned, how many experiments left to die in the dark? James's blood boiled at the thought of so many innocents ripped from their lives for nothing.

He reached the main room on the other side. Oh yes, he remembered that place now. He hadn't been the only Winter Soldier they had tried to create, even if he’d been the first. The five others laid in cryostasis before him, waiting for someone to wake them up.

James couldn't have that. He once had to fight them over and over and had never been strong enough to beat them, so he couldn't take the risk of them running around under a new version of Hydra's regiment.

He approached a pod, stared up at the person. The violence in them had made them less predictable, unstable, and they'd tried to kill the scientists more than once in the past. He got glimpses of them in his head, trying to take him down, only to turn around and kill the guards while he was ordered to escort the scientists out of the cage.

James deactivated the cryostasis and the oxygen supply of the chamber. They would die in their sleep, at least. He did the same for every pod and watched the holter monitors turn into a flat line one after another.

He then shot a bullet in their heads, just in case. No one wanted super soldier zombies. They didn’t budge through death, an alien image of serenity.

He uploaded the information of the computer on a drive before destroying it for the sake of destroying something.

He continued exploring. There were offices, cells, laboratories, and niched in one of the last rooms near the hangar was a room with the Chair. All sorts of equipment were installed around it, but James could only focus on the chair.

A shiver ran down his spine, and he leaned a hand against the rail for a moment before he stepped forward, metal fingers twitching. The air was colder here, or maybe it was just in his head.

An astringent smell bit his nose, made him grind his teeth. He hated being here. The bulky headset framing the chair, the tools, the monitors, the cuffs on the chair arms... He hated it all.

He considered throwing the grenade he had at it, make a bomb to make it explode, use the weapon they forced on him to destroy it, but it wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t erase his trauma.

He stared at it, taking deep breaths, and advanced one hesitant step at a time. Shivers kept running through him, his face turning numb. He had to do this, it was important for him.

He stopped in front of the chair, brought a hand down on the arm. It was cold. Of course it was fucking cold.

He slowly sat down on the leather seat, holding his breath, until he was pressed against the cold, metal back. He remained rigid, looking down at the opened cuffs as if they’d grab his arms and close around them at any second, the head piece wrap around his face.

They didn’t. Nothing happened.

He ripped the chair from its bolts in the floor and sent it in the lamps, kicked the brainwashing head tool and bent it so bad it never would be able to ruin anyone else’s life, punched the monitor until glass shards embedded in his metal fist. He made a bomb with stray equipment he found around and set it to explode.

There were more Hydra bases, more chairs to destroy, and James would go to every one of them if he had to.

A helicopter was on the rooftop, seemingly waiting for him. He could drive it and not crash again, could he? There was only one way to find out, despite his ribs protesting with phantom pain. Good thing he’d taken the insurance option on the rented car.

He climbed in, strapped his duffel bag on the passenger seat, then verified the gas level. He started the engines and made his way in the sky.

He decided to make a stop before going home. He had a helicopter, equipment, and intel on the Austrian base, so it was time to hit two heads with one stone. The facility was located in Kreischberg, and he didn’t know why the name sounded so familiar until he was approaching on foot, the helicopter parked in a small clearing in the trees.

It was in better shape than the last time he’d seen this place. Granted, it had been in flames and he was being rescued by Rogers, himself heavily disconnecting from reality with the mental torture he’d gone through. A lot of people had suffered and been experimented on here. It was still used to this day for horrible things, he’d discovered through research, but James would end it.

The entrance was only monitored by a card identification system, not a human in sight. James punched the device with his metal arm and forced the metal gate open. He’d taken less than a dozen steps in the courtyard before three guards appeared. He retrieved his handgun and, as he kept walking towards them, aimed and shot them one by one at point-blank. They fell down, and he continued his way inside. The door hadn’t even had time to close when he reached it, and he slipped through.

An alarm started ringing throughout the facility as he strode in the main hall. There were directions on the wall to the laboratories, which he followed. He tried to remember being here, a long time ago, but the layout had changed when it was rebuilt. Funny how SHIELD thought they were taking back from Hydra when the wolves were already hiding as lambs.

The guards didn’t cause trouble on the way, and he used someone’s card to enter the labs. The holding cells were at the entrance, but they were empty. He understood why as he entered the main room. Two scientists were hovering near a lab bed, where there lay a human in poor condition. James couldn’t tell if they were dead or not. One of the scientists injected something blue and shiny in the intravenous attached to their arm.

“Playing with something you don’t know about again?” He inquired as he approached in fast, large steps. They only realized his presence before he shot one of them at point blank in the head. “What are you doing?” He asked the other one.

The scientist, a man probably in his middle thirties, didn’t answer. Instead he looked at James, frightened.

“You don’t understand English? _Was tut ihr hier?”_ (“What are you trying to do?”)

 Again, they didn’t answer. There was a chart in German, and James quickly skimmed it over. “ _Wieder neue Waffen bauen?”_ (“Making new weapons again?”)

 _"Es ist eine Frage der Zeit, bis Hydra dich wieder einfängt."_ (“It’s a matter of time before Hydra captures you again.”)

“Ja _?”_ He shot the one who had just talked on the other side of the bed, then knocked unconscious the other one.

He messaged his hacker contact who knew how to reach the new SHIELD, told him they might want to come and pick up a package ready for them. He tied the scientist and turned to the person on the bed. They hadn’t reacted at whatever they’d injected them with, were barely breathing. Only the faint heartbeats on the monitor showed him they were still alive.

James breathed out, searched through the cabinets for something, anything he could use to keep the person alive before SHIELD arrived, but there was nothing useful. When he turned back, he noticed the person was conscious, and he came closer.

“I’m sorry I can’t help you,” he whispered, wishing he could do more, anything to ease their pain.

They took a shuddering breath, and James held his bottle of water to their lips. They barely drank anything.

“ _Töte …mich_ ,” they said, then repeated when James stared at them with a conflicted expression. (“Kill me.”)

He bit his bottom lip, unsure, but he nodded. If that was their wish.

He took his gun, held it against their head. The person had closed their eyes, serene through the wounds of their face. He pressed the trigger.

 

He arrived over an empty parking lot in Bucharest before dawn and discarded the helicopter there for others to find. He needed one of his own, so he could crash it in a forest somewhere.

He removed his tactic gear, threw it in his bag along with his guns and grenades, and walked into a grocery store that had just opened to buy himself breakfast. It was the most important meal of the day, or so he was told, and he was hungry again. 

He was eating an apple on the way back home, a few blocks away, when he heard something coming from an alley. It was… a whine?

He investigated the source of the noise and discovered it was coming from a garbage container. His heart leapt up in his throat as he opened the lid.

A litter of five puppies, he quickly counted, most of the little bodies stiff and motionless, but two of them weakly moved their tails at his arrival. He let out a dry sob at the sight, and slowly leaned his flesh hand towards one of the alive ones, felt his heart melt when they licked his fingers without any malice.

Godamnit.

He picked them out of the garbage, checked them for any injury, but they just seemed heavily dehydrated and malnourished. How long had they been here? He took out his tactic vest and put them in there after he gave them some water, which they greedily drank. He was disturbed at how silent they were.

Garbage pickup was that day, so James had saved the poor things from a certain death. He didn't know how to feel about that, between relieved, angry and confused as to what to do.

He brought them home. His loft felt so big as he watched them wobble their way around. He filled a bowl of water for them, then google searched what he could feed them that wasn't kibble. They looked small but bigger than new-borns, so he was fairly sure they could have solids. He prepared them plain oatmeal and added a bit of peanut butter for flavour. They seemed to like it, with the way they started eating as soon as he put the dish down.

He phoned a nearby veterinary to explain the situation, thanked them when they told him to bring them in as soon as he could, that they sadly were used to animals being abandoned. He found himself staring at the two dirty puppies licking the now empty bowl. He was still dirty from his mission, so he left the bathroom door open and took the quickest shower of his life.

He jumped into whatever casual clothes were laying around in his bedroom, then considered the two puppies. They were still exploring his living room, smelling everything they could reach, and he had a small smile.

"How could anyone abandon you?" He softly said, crouching to scratch one of them behind the ears, then the other one. They both deserved all the petting. And toys. And a bath. That'd be for later.

He called for an Uber and convinced the driver to let him in with two dirty dogs in exchange for a bigger tip. He realized how anxious he had been only when the veterinarian concluded they both were in perfect health, if a bit malnourished. She set him up with healthy food for puppies this young, then provided him with a nearby place to buy necessary supplies.

"Do you plan on keeping them?" She asked, watching him as he distractedly dragged his fingers in their soft fur. They had determined they were probably a Shepherd mix, a black girl with a white spot on her chest and the boy with brown strands along his back. They would grow quite big, she'd said.

"I don't know if I'm capable of that."

She smiled. "Those who say that are usually the best at it. Just give them a chance, otherwise there are shelters we can look into."

 

He returned home exhausted, but equipped with enough supplies to fill half his living room. He'd bought them both beds, crates, blankets, toys, training pee pads, treats, etc. The first thing after dropping everything was to give one a toy to play with and bring the other in the bathroom to scrub them off that horrible smell.

The girl first protested a lot, anxious that her brother wasn't with her, until he started carefully lathering her small body with soap, avoiding her eyes, and he laughed when she started licking the water off his fingers. The boy was a lot calmer, looking up at him with big, blue eyes.

Later, when everything was set and food had been given both to the dogs and to himself, he sat on the couch to watch another movie off the Top 100 movies. He was replying to emails at the same time when one of the puppies jumped on the couch to curl on his lap, followed by the other one. James didn't dare to move, instead watched over them in their sleep.

He decided to call the girl Luminita and the boy Mircea.

 

Setting up a routine with them took some time, because he wasn't used to not being able to go everywhere he wanted. He didn't take any contracts for the first two months, simply to get them used to their new home and let them grow from their puppy size. They ate a lot, and quickly got bigger over the next weeks. Was this how it felt to watch babies grow?

James had to get accustomed to them just as they had to get used to him. They had been traumatized by being stuck in the garbage bin, as he discovered the first time he put them in their crates. They didn't like closed spaces, but if he kept the front door uncovered, they felt better. They didn't like being separated either, started crying whenever they'd been away from each other for too long. James had been told by the veterinarian they'd get better, which he understood. He also got better, with time.

He found that he missed not taking contracts for this long, but retribution could wait. He had plenty of money put aside, so this wasn't an issue. The boredom he feared he would feel from a lack of moving so much never came, because he was too busy raising puppies. If he ever had free evenings where the dogs fell asleep in the midst of gnawing on a toy, he'd work on hacking and keeping track of... certain people.

He felt like he had reached another step in his life. He wasn’t completely without burden, but he had come to make room for it. He still had bad days, a lot of them, but he had more good days. Waking up with small bundles of joy sprawled on his chest or curled at his side had that effect.

He didn't have as many night hallucinations, and when he did, either Luminita or Mircea would wake up as well, their cold snout pressing against his lips or one of his cheeks. The fear he'd somehow hurt them never left him, but also the one time he'd woken up with a start, they had rolled away from him in alert, instinctively moving away. It had been the only time, a few weeks after he adopted them, and hadn't happened ever since.

He put back the decorations in the bedroom, small relics he collected from all over the world, put paintings on the walls he bought online for small fortunes. His apartment started feeling like a real home.

They were about four months old when he started considering a dog sitter. He looked up professionals, but he didn't like the fact they'd basically spend their days in a cage.

He looked for people with ads in local newspapers but didn't trust them either. He couldn't fathom the idea if they discovered whose dogs they were and kill them, as stupid as he knew it was. They simply couldn't know, James had spent too much time trafficking his own online identity and fake papers. He wanted to also believe no one would hurt innocent animals, but it wasn’t true, was it?

He didn't know that many people in Bucharest, and not many of those that he trusted. It was actually awfully easy how he finally found someone.

" _Ai mai multe poze cu dintre câinii tăi_?" Alina asked him as she was weighting his fruits, at the Piaţa Obor. (“Do you have more photos of your dogs today?”)

It was of note the majority of his photos were now dedicated to his puppies at every stage of their lives. For science. 

He indeed had more memories snapped on his phone. He swiped through the album and found one he really liked.

“ _Oh, sunt atât de drăguți._ ” ("Oh they're so cute.")

“ _Nu-i așa._ ” ("I know right.")

“ _Ar trebui să le aduci o data, la sfârșitul schimbului_.” (“You should bring them one time, at the end of my shift.")

James thought it over, and it clicked.

And that's how Alina became the dogs' sitter. They absolutely loved her, and with how much he was paying her, she was able to drop one job. At first she came to his apartment so everyone would get accustomed, supervised by James. After that she brought them to her place, which was way spacier than he anticipated, to be honest, so they’d have plenty of space to run around.

He flew to Saudi Arabia with some anxiousness the first time he left his dogs. Alina sent him photos and updates every few hours, and the fact L and M were together helped them acclimate really fast. In each photo they either were playing, eating or sleeping, which was expected of puppies.

LGBTQIA+ people were heavily at risk in Saudi Arabia, same-sex relationships weren’t even recognized. The person who had contacted James was a trans man who was being blackmailed by a drug lord to do his demands. Being transgender was penalized the same as homosexuality, so the man was stuck between two evils, to work for an evil organization or be denounced to the authorities.

James came in pretending to be a pizza delivery man, which sparked some confusion as no one had ordered pizza. James shot the goons through the boxes and forced his way inside the slick office. Intel had informed him a reunion of some sort was happening that night, which was the perfect occasion for him to strike.

Not only did he take down the drug lord, but also a good portion of the Council, which gave enough time for the man to get out of the country. James refused his money and instead sent him information about a reputable LGBTQIA+ safe place in Greece. He remembered a time where being homosexual in Brooklyn was punishable by law, lobotomy still very much a thing, and it abhorred him that despite how economically rich Saudi Arabia was, it still couldn’t buy human decency.

He also gathered intel on the Ukraine base with a new resolution. He went, he saw, he destroyed. The base was abandoned except for a very small maintenance team that James was all too happy to eliminate. The less Hydra, the better the world was becoming.

He was always eager to get back to his dogs. It was a weird feeling, when he was used to be alone. Independence was nice, but could be lonely at times. He liked having a routine with them, he found out, walking them once everyday and going to sleep with them and waking up being cuddled from all sides. Petting them when he felt anxious grounded him, their calm composures a reassurance that no one was about to jump on him from a dark corner. They were partly Romanian shepherds, he'd discovered, a very smart and protective breed.

Steve and Tony would still keep in touch with him, keeping a constant conversation even when he didn't always reply. They were still recovering from Ultron, that whole fiasco, but they were safe. It was all that mattered.

The dogs were about six months old when he received a phone call from an unknown number. Only a handful of people knew his number, so he answered, even though he despised talking on the phone.

"Luis, why are you calling?"

"I know we're supposed to stick to the ominous texts, but I thought you might want to hear this, man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About this chapter :  
> [Piroshky ](https://natashaskitchen.com/russian-potato-piroshki-with-garlic-dip/)  
> Thank you [Dara](https://shippingdara3008.tumblr.com/%E2%80%9D%20rel=) for the help with the German translations!  
> [The dogs are mixed Carpathian Shepherd Dogs ](https://www.dogbreedinfo.com/carpathian.htm%E2%80%9D%20rel=)  
> The Romanian was once again destroyed by Google and yours truly.  
> [LGBTQIA+ rights in Saudi Arabia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/LGBT_rights_in_Saudi_Arabia)
> 
> I made a Spotify [playlist of this story](https://open.spotify.com/user/45ks8wo3rhkh6ahffy72xe3ut/playlist/2RxJ0E7kfY4Kc0yn4m1mqp?si=X6cISovAROGSnAG6Cpz-fg)!  
> Find me on [Tumblr](http://cap-sweet-and-salty-sadness.tumblr.com/).  
> I'm also the mod of a new [Marvel Discord](https://discord.gg/5k5ysr), come and join! All pairings are welcome.


	8. To belong (in the heart of me)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter and epilogue are from the songs [”Handmade Heaven”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GiOGlYjKgX8) by MARINA (the fic was originally supposed to be titled "To Belong", fun fact) and [”I've Got You Under My Skin”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C1AHec7sfZ8) by Frank Sinatra  
> No warning for this chapter, other than Bucky’s usual badassery.  
> Edit: I modified a detail in chapter 7 that I'd forgotten to change, the joy of posting a still changing story. Basically Tony and Steve don't know about the dogs. Sorry for the confusion! 
> 
> A huge thank you to my awesome, wonderful Beta [Tristinai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tristinai/pseuds/tristinai) who helped me throughout this journey, I probably would’ve cried a lot more without you. <3
> 
> This is the last chapter and the epilogue of this story. I’m so happy with how things came to be. I wanted something Bucky to be able to recover on his own, with a bit of furry help near the end, because it’s not something I’d seen a lot in general for him in the fandom. 
> 
> Self-recovery is super important in my opinion for any type of trauma, because you’ll never be able to recover if you’re not willing to begin with, and Bucky’s constant drive to be better is really inspiring. He’s not perfect and he makes mistakes and he kills people for a living, I mean, but at least he’s trying his best, and that’s what makes him human. I just love him so much, alright?!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who ever left a kudos or a comment here, I appreciate you so much and I hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I loved writing this.

"Luis, why are you calling?"

"I know we're supposed to stick to the ominous texts, but I thought you might want to hear it, man. You know how much of a fan of Captain America I am, right? So I'm checking what's he up to, kind of like every day because I have a few programs running for the Avengers, the remnants of Shield, the Fantastic Four, the Inhumans, the X-men, and don't get me started on the villains or the independent heroes. Couldn't they just group together and write whether they're good or bad, even though with people like Jessica Jones, you're never too sure whether she'll--"

"Luis," James interrupted him, raising his eyes to the ceiling. The puppies were playing together on the floor near him, running around and trying to steal a toy from each other. They yapped and playfully bit each other, and they were absolutely adorable. James had been reading a book while supervising before he got the call. 

"Yeah, sorry. I never get to talk to you so I get nervous. So the Good Cap, he's in Sokovia right now for the rebuild, but about an hour ago I intercepted a bounty to eliminate him. It was posted on the DW, so it's serious business."

James stopped breathing, and he realized he was on his feet when the dogs stopped playing to look at him. 

"I found you an airplane at the Banease Airport. Normally you'd rent it with a pilot, but I figured you didn't need one. You can bring the dogs, they'll have plenty of space to play around while you do your murder thing."

"You thought this through."

"Hey, you know me, I wouldn't want anything to happen to the Good Cap."

He packed the dogs' bag before he packed his own in record time, then took the duffel bag filled with weapons, grenades and various types of knives.

"Alright, who wants to go on a ride?" Neither of them detected his anxiety, which was good. He didn't want to worry them for nothing. 

The ride to the airport went by quickly in his own car. He figured he needed one, with the dogs, and in case he needed to leave fast. It proved useful right now. 

He inspected the plane, outside and inside, before he judged it was safe to bring the dogs in. He was putting them in their respective crates for the flight when he thought of calling Steve. He waited for the plane to be in the sky before dialing his number. 

He didn't answer, so he called again. By the fourth time the voice mail started, he growled in frustration, then dialled Tony instead. 

He set the auto-pilot and opened the crates to let the puppies roam around, threw their toy on the other side. 

"James, hi," Tony said, sounding surprised. 

"Hi. Are you in Sokovia with Steve?" 

"Not yet, I had SI business to finish before. Why?" 

"You might want to hurry, there's a bounty on his head. My contact is working on it, and I'll be there in two hours myself."

"Fuck... FRIDAY, you got all that?" 

"Sure did, boss. I sent a message to Pepper to let her know you wouldn't make it to your other appointments."

"ETA for Sokovia?" 

"Seven hours, five if we use all the power, but you won't have any to come back."

"That's okay. I have a ride. Lumi, _тихо_." She'd started barking while playing, too excited, and James had yet to manage her vocal outbursts yet. (“Shush.”)

"What was that?" 

"My dogs."

"Wait. Dogs, as in plural? Why wasn't I aware you had dogs? Does Steve know of this?" 

"I wasn't sure if I wanted to keep them at first, and no, I didn't tell him either."

"And you brought them on a plane to Sokovia?" 

James saw red, the anxiety building up finally piercing. "I didn't have time to call my dogsitter and tell her that I had to go out of the country because my best friend from before my brainwash might have assassins after him, so yes, I brought them with me, Tony." 

"... That's fair.” James realized he’d never sounded this fired up, or dad-like. “Gimme a sec.”

James put him on speaker and strode to his bag containing his weapons and armour. He put on his body armour over his tank top, then changed his pants for tactical ones. He then started sliding his multiple knives in their respective holsters; at his back, against his thighs, one on each sleeve.

“Hey, alright, I’m here. I’m on my way now, had to get the armour on. Did you think of warning Steve?" 

“I did, but he didn’t answer.”

"He crushed his cellphone a few days ago, hasn't gotten to repair it yet."

"So he doesn't even have a pager to be contacted on?" 

"No. I don't think he knows what it is, Buckaroo. I'll send him an email in case he goes back to his hotel, but he's probably helping on the main street still. That's what he's been doing for the past few days."

"I'll get there as soon as I can. My priority is to get him to safety."

Tony's voice was worried, but his words were resolute when he next said, "Alright. I trust you. I'll talk to you soon."

Mircea jumped on his lap, and he spent the majority of the flight petting him, not just for the dog's pleasure but to reassure himself. Mircea showed his belly without an ounce of fear. He was trusting him, just like Tony trusted him. 

He returned to the plane's commands when they approached their destination. Luis had texted him the coordinates, told him he was now the owner of a private hangar in the middle of the city. He landed, careful with the dogs at the back roaming freely. He wouldn't repeat the helicopter incident this time. 

" _собачки_ , I need you to be on your own for a little while, alright?"  He told them once he set down a bowl of water and food. (“Doggies”)

They were smart dogs and had been on their own for a full day before, when he was testing them. They looked at him with their cute faces, so he left them treats to enjoy before he walked out, putting on a jacket for appearances. 

He still wouldn't pass as a civilian with the bulk of his arm, knives and guns on him, but at this point it wasn’t his priority. Luis had sent him the last coordinates of Steve, which wasn’t that far from his new property. He'd have to survey from the rooftops if he couldn’t blend in. It’d also be easier to spot the assassins, they usually always had a tell. There had been a contract in Casablanca about a year ago when Hydra had had mercenaries follow him to try and take him down. James had quickly discovered them and had taken to following them instead, since he’d completed the reason of his presence in Morocco. That had been a compelling experience. 

Novi Grad could've been any other typical European city if it wasn’t for all the destruction and the robot parts laying in the streets. The combat had happened recently, and still people were working hard to sort the rubble in the huge trash containers. Some buildings remained standing by some miracle, holes in the facade almost going all the way around, bricks and shattered glass piled up and swept to the side. Other buildings were already being repaired, those that only suffered minor damage. 

James jumped from one rooftop to the next, careful to remain on sure ground and stay hidden, using the shadows to his advantage. He made it to the town square and climbed up the ladder of the tallest building, which he believed to be the city hall. 

He probably had the best view from up here. It wasn’t difficult to find Steve, with the huge concrete block he was currently carrying to a container. Without him the workers could move those blocks only with a material handler, so his help was cutting their work by at least hours, if not a complete day or two. James was about fifteen meters high, and still he could see how tight his shirt was. How it hadn’t ripped with all this workout was beyond him.

He put down his duffel bag and jacket, crouched to survey the rest of the street below, and his enhanced hearing picked up breathing nearby. It was unsurprising that the best sniper spot around would already be occupied. Laying on her stomach was a woman with matching forest green hair and leather suit, surveying through the scope of her sniper rifle. Something about her made James recoil, like an aura he was all too accustomed to. Evil.

He unholstered his gun and aimed at her, not losing the moment of surprise. He pressed the trigger. The shot was true, the bullet piercing exactly where her head had been a second ago. She had simply vanished. 

With the time it took him to turn around, she was already on him, a knife in her hand. He had a glimpse of her victorious grin before he twisted away to evade.

He deflected the hit and counterattacked with his metal arm, too close to use his gun or retrieve a knife of his own. She vanished again and he almost lost balance, unable to stop his movement. She could teleport. James had read about mutants able to do that, but he never encountered someone with that power before. He turned to have his back against the large vent and retrieved two daggers in his arsenal, twirling them once between his fingers to test their weight. 

He listened, immobile, and a small pop in the air, almost like a zap, gave her away. He turned around the vent and threw a knife at her. He was already running when she caught it with what seemed to be a slimy green tentacle coming out of nowhere. How many powers did she have?

He punched her in the stomach, hoping he could take her down before anyone noticed the fight. She barely flinched and hit him back with that tentacle, sending him against the vent and leaving a large dent in it.

Well, it wouldn't be as easy as he thought it'd be. He wasn't the only enhanced assassin out there. She shot something green his way, some sort of poison he definitely didn't want on him, and he evaded every projectile she sent at him. He grew tired of it and shot her in the kneecaps after he pirouetted out of the way one too many times, starting to be out of breath. She screamed and fell.

"Can't teleport anymore, can you?" He said, then shot her again in the head. He had thought hard about it, about whether or not to kill them, but in the end they were ruthless assassins who didn't mind taking down superheroes for a paycheck. In his book they were as bad as the rest. 

Only she didn't seem to die. As soon as she hit the ground, a green cocoon wrapped around her head and tentacles around her body, as if protecting her from further damage as she healed. This wouldn't do, but he had no more time to give for her. He zip tied her arms and legs, so at least when she'd wake up she'd still be incapacitated.

He used her setup to survey the plaza. It was a Blaser R93 Tactical, well maintained, and he felt no guilt using it to find two other assassins in the crowd. If he started taking them out, it'd cause chaos and would make it difficult for him to spot more of them.

Well, best get started. He aimed at the one closest to Steve, a blond girl who was sitting on a bench right by the site. He got her in the head. Some people leaned over her and started screaming once they realized she hadn't just randomly fallen. Of course Steve heard and immediately approached the source of the distress. Another assassin who'd been watching from outside a coffee shop rose up, either to follow him or to escape in the sudden wave of panic, but James had been waiting. He shot him in the neck.

He called Luis. "Any news on who put up the contract?"

"Still working on it. I see you're having fun."

"Weather could be better, to be honest... Oh fuck. That idiot."

"What's happening?"

"Rogers looked at my position and totally busted my cover. He did that once, back in Italy— Sorry, gotta go."

He remembered the other time Steve had blown his cover, in the war. How angry James had been. Steve sat there as he lectured him, not even apologizing or looking sorry. He’d been relieved James was alive, he’d come to realize much later, during one of those sleepless nights that blended together. Whatever serum Zola had injected him with had brought him nothing but nightmares and misery at that time, until the ultimate fall. 

James broke the rifle’s barrel so no one could use it, put the jacket in his bag, and jumped down to street level. 

He used the general cacophony to slip through the crowd, towards Steve. He could see his blond hair peeking through, closer and closer until the crowd parted, and suddenly he was there.

"James, what's going on?" He was saying, a furrow between his brows, confused but alive. His tight shirt showed off his broad shoulders and thick arms, the wide width of his chest, and the steady way he was breathing. Something in James eased up, and he almost hugged him right then and there. It wasn't the time. 

"There's a bounty on your head. I couldn't warn you."

 A movement from the corner of his eye made him turn, and he threw a knife instinctively. It hit the man in the chest who fell backwards on impact. James walked over to retrieve his knife, wiped it on the assassin's jacket.

 "We need to get out of here... Why are you looking at me like that?"

 "You came here to protect me?" He left a lot unsaid, like the fact Steve could've fought on his own and left for safety still alive. He could've dealt with this without James's help. 

 Steve followed him out of the plaza, through the busy streets. He kept a vigilant eye around, now that he knew there was a serious threat, but he hadn't been trained for assassins, couldn't identify them as well as James could. 

 "Do you have a car?"

 "Yeah, it's rented. It's a bit further, in the public parking."

 They walked in silence, James' bag contents clinking together. 

 "What do you have in there?" Steve inquired.

 "Lots of stuff. Flash grenades, EMPs, a submachine, about a dozen knives, that kind of thing."

 "Oh."

 "Tony is incoming too. I called him when I couldn't reach you."

 "Oh, that. I broke my phone's screen and didn't have time to repair it."

 "And Tony didn't offer to do it for you?"

 Steve scoffed. "He said he'd give me a new one, but it's just the screen that's broken, why would I need to change it completely if it can be fixed? If it were up to him, I'd— Get down!" 

Steve threw James and himself out of the way, a blue ray hitting the spot where they'd just been standing. They landed beside a car, Steve on top of James, and they stared at each other for a second, so close their noses almost touched. James swallowed, pushed him out of the way to get a flash grenade. He crouched to peek at their attackers. They were two men and a woman, and they were coming fast. 

 He put his hand in his bag to grab his submachine, but instead found the back of Steve's hand.

"Can I borrow this?" Steve asked, taking out a handgun. He was already removing the safety, checking the ammunition with practiced ease. James's mouth went a bit dry at the intense look he sent him. 

 "Sure." He took his submachine, uncorked the grenade. "Get ready."

 He threw it from underneath the car and it slid up to the trio's feet. The world exploded in smoke. James sneaked from behind and fired. He hadn't thought of night vision goggles, but he could guess where they were. He knew he hit one of the men and approached him quickly, finished him with a bullet in the head. He could hear gunfire a bit further, and as he lurked closer from the disruption, he saw Steve fighting the remaining man. 

 He had to be enhanced, with the speed he was dodging Steve. He didn't expect a well placed kick in the knee, and it only took a second of struggle for Steve to come forward and snap his neck. 

"Where's the other one?" James inquired, scanning around the dissipating smoke screen. 

"Dead. You okay?" 

"I'll be better once we get out of here."

He started walking away, and Steve followed. 

"And here I thought I wouldn't have the chance to use a grenade," he said, to loosen the tension. Steve snorted and squeezed his shoulder amicably. 

"I'll need a real hug once we're out of here," he replied casually. He was giving James the possibility to refuse. James reached and put his hand on his hip, a small touch, before he let go. 

"I think I'll need one, too." Steve smiled at that. 

They reached the car.

"Where to now?"

"We need to lay low for now, find a new hotel because yours is probably compromised."

“Alright,” Steve nodded. "You know, you haven't replied to me."

"About what?" James was already googling for a hotel nearby. 

"You came here to protect me?" 

“I guess I did,” James replied distractedly, then looked up as he processed the question. “I did. I didn’t even have to think it through when I learnt of the bounty… Anyway.” He cleared his throat, flustered at Steve’s intent gaze full of meaning. “I’ll direct you. We need to go get my dogs first. I hope you drive better than you used to."

"Wait, dogs?" 

 

Steve loved them. As soon as they walked in the airplane and the dogs approached the duo with barks of excitement, a wide grin spread on his face. 

"They're adorable," he declared after he introduced himself and got his fair share of licks in return for pets. "How did you get them?" 

"I found them in a dumpster. Couldn't leave them to die, and I like having them around." James kissed the top of Luminita's head before letting her go.

When he stood up, Steve wrapped him in his arms, slightly lifting him in the air while he squeezed the life out of him. James made a small sound of protest, but hugged him back just as tightly. 

He was warm, so very warm, and smelled nice, and his arms felt comforting around him, his face tucked in the crook of his neck. His beard tickled him in the most delicious way.

"I'm happy you're here, despite the circumstances. Or because of them."

"Me too. This is nice."

Steve's huff of laughter was warm on his skin. He pressed a small kiss there, against his heartbeat, before letting go. James's insides fluttered, and he couldn't suppress a smile. 

"What was that for?" 

Steve shrugged, his face growing red. "I don't know. You're nice."

James snorted and started putting things in the car. 

Once at a hotel, Steve played with the dogs while he stared at them with hearts in his eyes. James could easily picture the gif as he observed the scene before he turned back to look outside for any undesirable visitors. Tony was set to arrive in a couple hours, and in the meantime James was trying his best to find out the source of the contract. He didn't know how to hack professionally, but he knew some tricks. 

He'd gone to Steve's hotel to retrieve his luggage, and only had to eliminate one threat. If there were others, they hadn't been fast enough for James who had been in and out of the hotel in a matter of minutes. Now he was using Steve's laptop to hack through the surveillance cameras. So far no one suspicious had entered, and he was working on creating a false trail to indicate that they were gone from Sokovia. 

One of the dogs jumped on his lap. James smiled down at Mircea, scratched him behind an ear. “ _ты_ _просто_ _чудо_ _.”_ ("You're a sweetheart.")

The puppy started licking his wrist, and James chuckled before he brought his attention back to the computer. 

"I don't think anyone else is coming," Steve said. James had suspected as much. He finished taping something and sighed. 

"Better to be safe than sorry. Them thinking we're currently heading to Turkey will at least stall them."

They ordered food and were eating when Tony finally arrived. He had thought about stopping somewhere else in this suit and making the rest of the way in a more inconspicuous manner. 

He was greeted by both James and a duo of ferocious creatures who could barely reach his knees. Tony went to him first and James accepted his hug. He then crouched to greet the dogs with the same expression Steve previously had. James approved. 

"Why did you never mention them? They are absolutely adorable." He petted them for a moment longer, and James could see the lines of tension in his shoulders relax. He laughed when Luminita went to retrieve her ball, but it was James who grabbed it, to give Tony and Steve some private time. He still could hear them, however. 

"You're alright? Nothing broken?" 

"I don't heal this fast, you would still see it, Tony. I don't have a scratch on me, James almost took everyone out before I even noticed."

"Good, good. He got really scared, you know, and with reason. We're lucky he's here."

"We are."

They both turned to look at him, while he pretended he hadn't heard any of that.

 

He gave a crispy fry to Luminita, then Mircea, smiling at the sound they made as they happily chewed. 

"I thought you didn't want to have a plant, that it was too much effort," Tony said, stealing a fry of his own as he sat beside him at the table. 

"They're not plants, though. I found them abandoned and couldn't give them away when it was the time. Who am I kidding, I was smitten from the moment I saw them."

Steve came behind him, gently pressed a hand against the back of his neck. James didn't know how tense he was until he dug in a finger and he felt like melting. 

"I understand the feeling. I love them too already." Tony stroked Luminita's head, laughing as her only goal was to get more food. James had suddenly trouble focusing on what he wanted to say. He was sitting sideways on the chair so he wasn't leaning against the back, and Steve was now so close he could feel his warmth through the layers of clothes, let alone that hand still resting on him. 

"I mean, for you to bring them on a recon mission, you really can't let go of them."

James groaned, but he couldn't help but smile at the teasing. Tony patted his knee with a grin of his own, his hand lingering there. James swallowed. That casual touch was going to drive him crazy. 

"So, um, no one came in the few hours we've been here, but I think it's best that you lay low while my contact takes care of the contract. Do you have a backup plan?" 

"For when a price is put on my head? No, can't say I ever thought about it." Steve placed his other hand on his back and started massaging his shoulders, under Tony's gaze who didn't seem to mind. 

"'Cause you'd just want to fight them back? Yeah, figures. Tony?" 

"Mm? Oh, it's been your call so far, and I feel like you might have a plan."

"Well," he said after some inner debating, and being distracted by Steve's talented hands. "I did buy a house in Bali." 

It hadn't been a spontaneous decision. He'd wanted to have a safe haven somewhere warm for a long time, probably as long as he'd gotten back his freedom, and he'd been pondering about it when money started not being an issue. 

He knew it was a thing he really wanted when he found himself looking up agency websites. At first he checked locations in Hawaii, Capri, the French Polynesia, but his mind always came back to Bali. He'd found the perfect house in Uluwatu, at walking distance to a beach. 

He still didn't know if he wanted to move there permanently and keep his Bucharest apartment on the side or the opposite, he hadn't even had time to set foot in it yet. 

"You'd be comfortable with us staying in your space for a while?" Tony asked, ever so patient. 

Tony probably owned more than a dozen houses, let alone Stark Industries, and yet he wanted to stay with James. He felt like that was a conversation the couple had before. 

"Tony is inviting himself again," Steve huffed a laugh. 

"Steve, I'm not leaving you alone while there's a price on your head. I'm asking if James wants to be with-- I mean, if you want us around."

James noticed the way he recovered, but was too overwhelmed to react. He caught one of Steve's wrists for him to stop his ministrations, and Tony let go as well. He took a deep breath, eyes fixed on the darkened laptop screen. 

Finally, he slid his grip so he was holding Steve's hand instead and gently squeezed it. "Let's all go there." 

 

 

**Epilogue**

The house was more stunning than he could even dream, the photos not doing it justice. The view was gorgeous, James couldn't get over it. He sat one morning on his patio with coffee and watched the sun rise over the horizon, reflected on the water in myriads of oranges and pinks. He felt the wind brush his face and closed his eyes, basking in the warmth and enjoying the moment. 

He heard the telltale clicks of nails on the wood before he received a lapful of excited dog. Mircea licked his chin, overly happy to see him, and James grinned as he pressed kisses into the soft fur. 

 _"_ _привет_ _,_ _мой_ _мир_ _._ Did you sleep well with Tony? Oh, he snores? Well, let's not mention it to him, alright?" He stroked his back when Mircea sat down on him, his attentive gaze observing the birds. ("Good morning, my peace.")

"That's the cutest scene I've ever seen," Tony drawled from the door, his own cup of coffee in hand. James had made more for him, knew how much he liked it. "And I don't snore. I just sometimes breathe loudly."

"Uh-huh."

Tony sat beside him, in simple shorts and an opened shirt. It had tiny shields on it. "This place is incredible, you know. I could install an AI for you, if you want. It wouldn't be JARVIS or FRIDAY, but we could find a fun name, like SKYNET."

"You don't have to build me anything, you know."

"I don't mind building. Building for you is nice."

"Having you around is nicer. You don't have to give me anything... else." He focused on his dog as he said the last part, but this was him being honest. He wanted to be a part of what Tony and Steve had, and with the way the previous days had gone by, it was mutual. 

"Anything other than my natural charm and pretty face."

James smiled and looked up at him, smiling. "It is a pretty face." Especially with his hair all mussed from sleep and the bare expressions he didn't shy away from showing around him, not that he'd ever tell him that. 

"Says you, handsome assassin." Tony winked, then grinned, and really, James wanted to reach out and kiss him, taste the happiness on his lips. He didn't know why he didn't, or maybe… Maybe he knew. 

He still thought he didn't deserve any of this, or them. 

But he did. He deserved to be happy.

Steve came out later, wearing nothing but jogging shorts that left barely anything to the imagination, and he coerced James to run with him once again. They'd been here for five days and James only managed to not fall to his puppy eyes the first day. 

They ran up to the Uluwatu Temple, standing in the middle of the jungle, with monkeys peering down at them. Some had tried to steal his metal arm, but had quickly given up when they realized it was attached to him. James didn't like showing the scars on his shoulder, but he found a tank top that hid most of them. He hadn't bothered wearing his sleeve or face veil here. If Hydra wanted him, he was right here.

It was a beautiful place, not only the temple but the cliffs overlooking the deep blue sea, waves crashing on the beach. James snapped a few pictures of the architecture with his cellphone strapped to his biceps, then one of Steve who was looking up at an arch. He was drenched in sweat, freckles painting his shoulders with his exposure to the sun, and the curve of his ass was molded to his damp shorts. It was a great picture.

He laughed when he saw a monkey take interest in his phone, and he promptly strapped it back on his arm. "Those ones like shiny stuff."

On their way back they took the road along the cliffs at a much more leisurely pace. It was still early, the weather was just starting to warm up. It was a beautiful morning. 

"Thank you for letting us stay with you, I know Tony can be a handful."

James eyed him, and by his cheeky grin, Steve was aware he also was trouble. 

"At least he can cook." And Tony was very good at it, which shouldn't have come as a surprise. Everything he touched turned to gold... or delicious food. "I remember when you managed to even fuck up boiling a can of potatoes."

"I'm good at other things," Steve alluded, his fingers trailing along the inside of James's human arm, and James almost stumbled on his own feet. 

"If you say so," he managed. He really wanted to cool down in his pool right now. 

James took his hand and held onto it, no matter how sticky they both were. Steve seemed to like it, with the way he smiled at him. His hair was like wheat under the sun. 

"I'd like to know something," he said. "Are you really just doing this because of the bounty?” 

James knew that question was coming, for he'd asked himself that question a lot over the past few days. "It made me realize that you meant something to me, even if I didn't want to admit it at first. I've been trying to find my place for a long time, and I wanted to do it on my own. I think I finally found it, and that means… Well, you know."

Steve kissed his cheek. "I'm glad."

Tony was lingering in the pool when they came back. They joined him after cleaning themselves up. Steve started doing laps while James and Tony were content watching him swim around faster than a fish. 

Tony was floating on his back, arc reactor and firm muscles on full display, when James noticed his complexion was getting red. 

"Tony, did you put sunscreen on?"

"I don't need it, I have Italian blood."

Steve and him exchanged a look, then James extracted himself from the pool. He gestured at Tony. "You're coming with me."

Tony started complaining, but finally obeyed and followed him inside once they patted themselves somewhat dry. James led him to his bedroom and asked him to wait for him while he went to retrieve his own sunscreen in the bathroom. He personally didn't need it, with the serum, but he preferred to be safe rather than sorry. 

"Didn't you use to put motor oil on you and lay there with an aluminium sheet?" 

"Yeah, and look how common skin cancer is nowadays. Turn around." 

"So pushy," Tony pretended to be annoyed, but James very well knew he wouldn't listen if he really was. James warmed up some of the product in his human hand before he started applying it on his back. 

"My other hand's gonna be cold."

"It's fine, it's like an integrated AC."

James used his two hands then, noted the shiver that shook Tony at the contact. The sunscreen was a light lotion that sunk in his skin, and soon he was dragging his thumbs down his spine without any product left. 

"That's not how you apply sunscreen," Tony said, yet not moving from his spot. Instead he was leaning back. 

"How would you know, you've never used any."

He rubbed his shoulders one last time before letting go. "There. Now do your front."

Tony opened his mouth to say something, then stopped himself and instead started applying the sunscreen. James redid his bun higher on his head while he was doing so, only wearing swim shorts that had small flamingos on them and sunglasses. 

When they returned outside, Steve was laying beside the dogs who were licking droplets of water from his arm. 

"They can't drink that, there's chlorine in the water," James said, already shooing them away. They did so, not looking sorry at all. 

"I'd forgot how much of a mother hen you are," Steve grinned, wrapping his cool hand around his ankle and smiling up at him. "I won't let them drink pool water, sorry."

"I mean, who wouldn't want to lick water from you?" Tony leisurely said, smirking. He sat under a parasol where he'd put his giant iced coffee. He'd only put lots of ice into otherwise black coffee, an abomination by James's standards. 

"Tony..."

"He's right, who wouldn't," James quietly agreed, sitting back on his ankles beside him. Steve flushed a deep red up to the tips of his ears.

"Did you just… ?" Tony started, and James smirked, pleased he managed to shut him up. He leaned over and placed a hand on Steve's shoulder, tentatively. 

Watching his reaction, he slid it up along the long elegant curve of his neck and rested it against his jawline, his thumb brushing a cheekbone. "Is this okay?" He breathed, leaning over him. Steve had pushed himself up on an elbow, pupils blown wide. 

He nodded, his head barely moving, and his hopeful gaze fell on his lips for a second before returning to James's. They were so close their noses almost touched, they breathed each other's air. James only needed to move a bit forward to slot their mouths together. A soft contact, enough to feel the plumpness of Steve's lips, the chlorine taste that clung to them, and he let go. 

"James..." 

He blinked, licked his lips to chase the feeling, and dove back for more, this time kissing him more firmly, eager to remember how his mouth tasted like when he closed his eyes at night. Steve went willingly, his large hand setting on the back of James's neck, and he was pressing forward, a small moan building in his throat. James cradled his head, burying his fingers into his thick, wet hair. 

 He licked his upper lip, then when Steve gasped, he stroked his tongue along his teeth, his soft palate, his tongue. When they finally backed away, Steve's lips were spit wet and red, his own throbbing pleasantly. 

 Tony was watching them with the sort of intensity he only had when he was working on a project. 

 "Tony, come here." He pressed one last quick kiss on Steve's swollen mouth before he let him go and turned to the genius. Tony rose from his chair and met him halfway, warm hands grabbing his hips. Kissing him was different, and still James felt the same. Complete, safe, warm. 

 Tony sought his tongue and sucked on it, drew a moan out of him. A shiver of want traveled down his back, and he wrapped his arms around his sunscreen-slicked shoulders, smirked when Tony shivered at the cold contact of his metal arm. It was just a few kisses, but James felt dizzy already.

 He had to step back to catch his breath. The dogs pressed against his legs, thinking he was in distress. He crouched to pet them, giving him a moment to clear his mind.

"You okay?" Tony stroked his back, gentle and understanding. Steve got to his feet beside them, just to put his hand above Tony's. 

"I'm okay," James said, chuckling. "Guess I'm just processing this. Us." He nuzzled the hollow of Tony's throat, breathing in the sunscreen mixed with his distinct smell. "Thank you for waiting for me." 

"As long as you needed," Steve reassured. 

 

Later, when the sun was setting and Tony and James had cooked while Steve set up the table and entertained the dogs, he sat down with a hair mask in the living room while they watched Mad Max. He opened his laptop to check his emails, which he'd been postponing since he left in a hurry from Bucharest. Needless to say that it was piling up in there. 

He started filtering, deleting the silly stuff and putting in a separate folder for those he wanted to investigate the senders of. Again with killing good people. Luminita jumped on the couch and after attempting to lick his mask, laid down beside him, snug against his thigh. He stroked the fur on her back and shifted his laptop so it wouldn't bump into her. 

Mircea was sleeping on Steve, but it was Tony who kept cajoling him. James turned to check on them, only to realize they already were looking at him with a smile on their faces. 

"You look very cozy," Tony commented. "Can I come over?" 

James patted the free space beside him. "You don't need an invitation to cuddle." 

Tony snuggled into his side, squishing his cheek against his metal shoulder, and sneaked a hand on his thigh. "What are you working on?" Luminita had no qualms walking on his laptop to reach Tony's legs where she crashed. 

"Just checking for potential contracts," he replied, skimming over an email that he ended up deleting. 

"You like being a freelancer assassin?" 

James thought it over, because he'd never really considered he could stop. "I do," he finally said. "I like killing bad people. It's like being a superhero, but I'm actually paid for it." 

Tony cackled. "The shade," he exclaimed. Steve sat on the side Luminita had vacated with Mircea still on him, put his arm around him so he touched the both of them. He made a pleased sound at the smell of the hair mask and placed a delicate kiss under his earlobe, right on the edge of his stubble. 

"Then I'm happy for you. Let us know if we can help in any way, maybe to destroy some Hydra bases together." 

"You're already helping, but I'll let you know if anything comes up." 

"I have a question though."

"What is it? "

"What did you put in your hair?"

James laughed. "It's a hair mask, I can show you what I use. I think you might be interested in this first. My contact found out who put the contract on Steve." 

They peered at the screen, reading. Tony huffed in annoyance while Steve continued to stare. 

"Do you know who this Zemo is and why he wants you dead?" Tony asked. 

"I have no clue."

"Well, he lives nearby. Why don't we visit him and find out?" James suggested with a determined set to his jaw and murder in his eyes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Some things researched for this chapter:**  
>  The first assassin on the rooftop is [Viper ](https://comicvine.gamespot.com/viper/4005-3420/)  
> Reverso for the Russian translations, let me know if I fucked anything up (I probably did).  
> [Inspiration](http://www.balivillasales.com/magnificent-five-star-villa-investment-in-bali/) for Bucky’s villa in Bali  
> [Uluwatu Temple](http://www.bali-indonesia.com/attractions/uluwatu-temple.htm)
> 
>  
> 
> [Spotify playlist of this story](https://open.spotify.com/user/45ks8wo3rhkh6ahffy72xe3ut/playlist/2RxJ0E7kfY4Kc0yn4m1mqp?si=X6cISovAROGSnAG6Cpz-fg)
> 
>  
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr](http://cap-sweet-and-salty-sadness.tumblr.com/) or on the [Cullrian Discord](https://discord.gg/7Dc9FX)!


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